Legends
by Nike
Summary: No one believed the Twins had met the mythical AB-1025, except for the few who knew the truth. Now the Twins find their lives entwined with that of a badly broken mech who may be the Autobots' last – and best – hope. Slash, poly. Please heed warnings.
1. Part 1: Chapter 1

Title: Legends

Author: Nike

Rating: NC-17/Mature

Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro/HasTak/anyone else with current copyright and trademark rights. This work of fiction is not intended to infringe and no money is being made off of it.

Summary: No one believed the Twins had met the mythical AB-1025, except for the few who knew the truth. Now the Twins' find their lives entwined with that of a badly broken mech who may be the Autobots last – and best – hope. Non-gendered het, slash, and poly. Various pairings stated and implied. Sticky. Please heed warnings.

_**Warnings:**_ Cursing in both human and alien tongues, violence, death, war, war crimes, slavery, descriptions of systematic abuse and degradation, murder and assassination, sexual violence up to and including non-con and rape, violence and sex, sociopathy and other forms of insanity, twincest, prostitution, and relationships between some very messed up individuals.

_Author's Notes_: These are long. Feel free to skip over, but it will explain some things that might not be readily apparent.

This work of fiction borrows heavily from the G1, TFA, and Bayformers universes without being an outright crossover. It also borrows from any other Transformers canon I have even passing familiarity with and I added in some details of my own in an attempt to make a coherent whole. As such, certain things might not appear quite canon depending on which canon you're referring to, but I hope all instances thereof make sense in the context of this fanfic. Bonus points to anyone who recognizes the references. Oh, and there's a few OCs wandering around in the early parts.

_On Time:_

Nanobreem ~ small part of a breem/a moment

Breem ~ approx. 8.3 seconds – Transformer second

Cycle ~ approx. one hour

Joor ~ approx. 6 hours - Transformer hour

Solar Cycle/Earth Cycle/Cybertron Cycle ~ 1 day and 1 night, varies by planet – Transformer day

Orn ~ approx. 13 Earth days – Transformer week

Stellar Cycle ~ 1 year/time it takes the planet to circle its sun – Transformer month

Vorn ~ approx. 83 years – Transformer year (aging is based on this)

Megavorn ~ approx 8,300 years/100 vorns – Transformers are considered young, even if they are legal, until they pass their first megavorn.

_On Distance:_

I personally think it would make sense if a larger species measured distance differently. While Transformers have equivalent terms for distances, these distances are naturally going to be much larger than a human would make them. For example, a nanoclick is the Transformer equivalent of an inch but, in human measurements, a nanoclick would be approximately 1 yard. Thusly, it would, for instance, take a Transformer longer to go the distance of a megaclick than it would for them to go the distance of a human mile, despite them being approximately the same thing in each species' mind. With that in mind:

Nanoclick = Inch/Centimeter

Click = Yard/Meter

Megaclick = Mile/Kilometer

_On Technology:_

EM - The EM is an aura-like energy waste field surrounding a Cybertronian. The power signature of each EM is unique and allows for a certain level of identification, although pings are also used for etiquette and tense situations where one needs to determine friend from foe very quickly. Transformers use their EM much like humans use facial expressions and body language. It's possible to tell from the EM whether a mech's running hot (angry, passionate) or cold (sad, listless) and how open a mech is feeling. A short wave, for example, is held close to the body and is hard to make out unless one is actively looking for it, while a long wave can easily invade another mech's personal space. Friendly long waves can be akin to a hug if the EMs mesh, while angry long waves are considered rude and spiteful because it means one is pushing zie's anger into another mech's personal area, which can be painful to the sensors if the EMs are clashing. Many mechs nowadays also mimic organic facial expressions and body language in an effort to get themselves properly across to the organics whose senses are unable to see EMs.

Ferro-fluid face mask - After the discovery of sentient organics on Nebulos, ferro-fluid face masks were developed and then became a popular mod. These particular face masks consist of three parts: the face plates, the electro-magnetic field, and the ferro-fluid. The face plates act much the same as an organic's skull, providing a frame of reference as well as certain limited mobility around the mouth. The ferro-fluid is the most visible part, taking shape as the face plates and/or electro-magnetic field moves. The electro-magnetic field acts as both containment and allowing small variations to the various expressions by changing polarity in certain areas by small increments. A full-face mask is capable of an incredible variety of organic-based expressions. (Mostly, I don't see why, if we humans can use this magnetic liquid metal to do things like cool down stereo systems and hard drives, act as super-efficient shock absorbers, and create moving art, then why couldn't an advanced alien species use it to create faces not unlike what's in the cartoons?)

End Author's Notes. On to the story, or at least the part I keep thinking of as the long-ass prologue. This is just me setting things up for later.

_**Part 1: Alpha of War**_

_Chapter 1_

One word was enough to make a world tremble and bring an end to civilization as its inhabitants knew it.

"No."

"No?" Lord High Protector Megatron repeated in confusion. Optimus Prime found himself staring at the familiar, sleek gray frame of the mech before him, and wondered if he'd ever really known him. This was the mech he'd looked up to when he was still Orion Pax, the one he'd considered a friend and equal upon being made Prime, and the mech he'd considered a lover once Elita-1 made it clear that if he didn't mind her actions with Aeterna, then she certainly wasn't going to mind him acting upon his attraction for Megatron. He was also the mech Optimus had accused of hiding something the last time they'd interfaced, before this debacle began.

"Then bond with me, so we can have no secrets from each other," Megatron had replied with deep laugh at the time even as he'd trailed fingers down Optimus' side.

"You know I can't," Optimus had sadly replied.

"Because Elita-1 beat me to your spark. I know. You do know it's possible to be bonded to more than one individual, correct?"

"Don't tempt me, Megatron."

"Oh, I'm tempting you, am I?" Megatron had drawled with a grin.

"Yes, but not in that way. If I took a second bonded, I'd be tacitly giving both you and Elita permission to do the same, and while I might not mind what my bonded's chassis gets up to, I'm afraid I'm rather selfish about sharing my bonded's spark."

"Who says you don't deserve to be selfish once in awhile?" Megatron had asked before thoroughly distracting Optimus from the conversation. And then everything had gone wrong, leaving Optimus feeling woefully unprepared.

"You heard me, Megatron. No," Optimus repeated, wondering if he was the first person to deny Megatron anything more than once: first his spark and now his request for more mechs.

"You're refusing to do your duty, Prime?" Megatron asked with a deepening frown. Optimus frowned as well. His duty, beyond several religious ceremonies and seeing to the general chaos of everyday life, was to spark new mechs. With the population severely limited to prevent overcrowding and overstretching resources, that now only occurred when a mech died, which was a rarity these days and meant any and all sparklings were considered a joy and delight to every mech fortunate enough to be around one. Still, as the Keeper of the Matrix and Protector of the Allspark, the two Primus-given objects capable of creating new sparks, it was solely the Prime's duty.

"I am not refusing to do my duty, Megatron. There will be new sparklings to replace the mechs who died recently, but they will be civilians and not part of your army, considering you are the reason we now have twenty dead mechs to begin with!" Optimus replied hotly. Since the end of the last Quintesson War, which had ended vorns before Optimus had been sparked, twenty dead was unheard of. Vorns could pass before a mech died, and when they did it was either because the individual in question was ancient or because of some accident.

"It is not my fault they were foolish enough to die," Megatron growled. Optimus hated that Megatron said that, hated that anyone truly believed that. To believe death only resulted from stupidity took away from the fact that sometimes the individual was at no fault other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time. It meant denying that the universe was a chaotic place no one could truly plan for, and if one denied the chaos, then one usually believed one could control the universe. After all, anything that wasn't chaotic could be controlled. Optimus didn't believe that and disliked people who did. It also didn't change one fundamental thing.

"They died because you chose to lead an attack on Nebulos. Nebulos! They've been our allies since before the last Quintesson War, and you attacked them unprovoked!" And since the war had been over since before Optimus himself had been sparked, that meant there had been generation upon generation of the short-lived Nebulons who had lived with the knowledge that Cybertronians were friends, only to have that trust abruptly shattered.

"They were planning on attacking us and it is my duty as Lord High Protector to eliminate threats to Cybertron!"

"Do you have proof of this threat?" a new voice interjected. Optimus found himself relaxing as the smaller mech done up in black and white strode forward. Optimus had to put up with questions of all sorts when he'd first hired the very young mech to act as head of planet-wide security and emergency services, but no one could deny that Prowl was spark-gifted in all the areas needed to do an excellent job. Even now, he was being fair and logical.

"The Nebulons destroyed it during the fight," Megatron said in disgust, although whether it was aimed at Prowl or the Nebulons was anyone's guess.

"How unfortunate," Prowl replied, ferrofluid mask and EM field utterly still and emotionless as if he was stating a simple fact. Knowing Prowl, he probably was. Megatron eyed the much smaller mech, as if waiting for something to betray some emotion: a flicker of an optic or a twitch of one of the wing-like appendages Prowl's sensor array formed when in bipedal mode. Optimus knew Megatron was looking in vain. Prowl could keep utterly still when dealing with the chaotic maelstrom caused by a chemical spill and not a single mech, not even the Lord High Protector himself, was going to phase him.

"Yes, unfortunate, but it is now up to the Council to decide whether I did the right thing or not," Megatron said. And the Council was hotly debating the topic the last Optimus checked. Morally, it was reprehensible, but the resulting flow of goods and energy into the market was making its mark. Quite a large number of mechs, especially the poor ones, loved cheap energon and were making that clear to their Council representatives. It was the ones who could afford to take a moral stance (or had actually visited Nebulos) that were fully against what Megatron had done.

"Legally, yes," Prowl agreed, "But morally, no. There is a precedent for Primes to take a moral stance on an issue being debated in the Council and acting upon it. Until the Council decides and legally enforces their decision, Optimus Prime has every right to refuse your request. It is, after all, his job to decide who gets sparked and where."

Optimus quickly tried to hide his surprise when he realized what Prowl was essentially saying: if he sparked the twenty new mechs and placed them before the Council made their decision – and it was starting to look like when they forgave Megatron rather than if – then no one could do a thing about it. Megatron was quick on the uptake as well. The look he gave Optimus made the Prime take a step back, it was so full of malice and hate. For the first time in his life, Optimus Prime found himself frightened of Megatron, and he felt relieved when the slightly larger mech turned and stomped away.

Once the door slammed close behind him, Prowl said, "Good riddance."

"You've never liked him," Optimus observed.

"No, he's never liked me, ever since he learned he can't control me. He was only willing to put up with me because I obey you and he believed he had you under his control. Now that you're proving otherwise…" Prowl trailed off before turning and looking Optimus in the optics and saying, "I'd work fast, if I were you, sir."

No one could feel it yet, but the tremors had begun.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Bunch of old fuddy-duddies," Alpha Trion growled as he left the Council Chambers and fell in step beside Optimus Prime. Optimus gave the Ancient a startled look.

"Pardon me, sir, but aren't you the oldest member of the Council?"

"Of course I am! That's why I can get away with calling them that. I may be an Ancient, but they act like they are. The lot of them are too comfortable in their old age to risk the status quo and too young to realize that sometimes risking the status quo's exactly what needs to be done! Bah!" Alpha Trion suddenly came to a screeching halt quite literally.

"Are you alright, sir?" Optimus asked, worried and trying to help as the very old mech limped over to a nearby seat.

"It's my old joints again. Surprised I'm not falling apart at the seams. Here, take this lubricant and give my knee joints a good squirt, will you? There's a good lad."

Optimus accepted the unsubspaced lubricant spray and cleaning rag and knelt before the Ancient to better see what he was doing.

"Oh, if only I could get you to kneel like that in front of me," a new voice playfully interjected. Optimus didn't bother turning, his sensor array including secondary optical units and the newcomer's ping letting him know who it was.

"Hello, Quicksilver," Optimus replied politely as he sprayed Alpha Trion's first joint and quickly mopped up the spillage before working it into the joint.

"Ah, that's good, lad. And you, don't tell me a pretty Collector like yourself is jealous of an old rust pile like me?"

"Oh, but I am," Quicksilver replied cheerfully. "When I'm not acting as the Collective's Council representative, I'm supposed to be gathering information from important figures like our lovely Prime here. And you have no idea how hard it is to get Optimus to stop long enough to interface with me."

"You ask more often than is strictly necessary for information gathering," Optimus grumbled as he started on Alpha Trion's second leg joint.

"How would you know what's necessary? And how do you know I don't ask so often because you keep putting me off?"

"My bonded has first claim," Optimus replied, trying to deflect the Collector's questions.

"And Megatron has second?"

Optimus did turn and face Quicksilver at that. The Collector was a very pretty mech, all liquid-shiny silver except for the blue sun-like Collective mark, with filigree on his panels and even, in some places, replacing the panels in order to provide teasing glimpses of the protoform underneath. Collectors were information gatherers and the best way to gather large amounts of data very quickly was still a direct hard-line, which meant interfacing. Colloquially, the Collectors were referred to as pleasure bots and the Collectors did nothing to deny that. Then again, no one messed with a Collector unless they wanted to be on the bad side of the Collective and with the amount of information they'd already gathered, the Collective ran pretty much everything these vorns.

"What do you know about Megatron?"

"I interface with him regularly. It's my job, as I've already stated. He doesn't put up nearly as much of a fight as you do, either," Quicksilver replied, inspecting the polish on his finger joints as he replied. Optimus stood, absently handing Alpha Trion back the lubricant and cloth.

"Then you know Megatron was hiding something just before he attacked Nebulos," Optimus said.

Quicksilver gave Optimus a calculating look and Optimus was reminded why he didn't like having to deal with the Collective in general and Quicksilver in particular. Collectors were Collective-bonded. All Collective mechs were, from the Collectables who acted as super-computers to the Enforcers who acted as the Collective's own police force. The Collective bond meant every Collective member knew what all the other Collective members did and, despite appearances, Collectors like Quicksilver tended to be very intelligent.

"You're planning something and don't want anyone to know," Quicksilver stated as he violated Optimus Prime's personal space, aura-like EM expressing desire. Optimus stumbled back until his back came into contact with a pillar, Quicksilver matching him stride for stride.

"Um… Quicksilver, now is not the time," Optimus stated uncomfortably as the smaller mech stroked sensitive areas.

"Oh, but you've got me all intrigued now," Quicksilver said, ferrofluid mask reforming into a pout. "You know how I get about new data."

"Quicksilver, the fewer who know the better, which means interfacing with you at this time is not an option."

"It has to do with the Council's decision about Megatron, doesn't it?" Quicksilver asked with a frown as he took a step back, out of the Prime's reach, before suddenly smiling again, "But afterwards, you can share the information?"

"I… yes," Optimus admitted. Quicksilver's EM and ferrofluid mask went utterly still in the way it only did when the Collector was in direct contact with the Collective, then the silver mech became animated again.

"Very well. The Collective will let you keep your secrets until after the decision is reached. But I get you first immediately afterwards."

"Alright," Optimus agreed with a sigh, knowing he wouldn't get anything better than that. Quicksilver smiled before sauntering off.

"Well, that's the Collective off your back for now. If Megatron goes to them for information about what you're doing, they'll deny all knowledge of it, even if they suspect the truth," Alpha Trion observed.

"Yes. Now I need to ask you about preparing the Sparking Chambers…"

~*~*~*~*~*~

"How are the protoforms coming, my old friend?" Optimus asked. Ratchet grunted in reply, working on a weld, even as the other medics scrambled to acknowledge their Prime. The newer ones looked horrified that Ratchet was still working, but that was why Optimus had chosen the slightly older mech to be in charge of medical services. In addition to being one of, if not the best, medics on the planet, the patients always came first with Ratchet no matter who else was there or who he was working on. When Optimus and another mech had been injured at the same time, Ratchet had chosen to fix the worst off which had been the other mech, to much consternation. Optimus wouldn't have it any other way.

Finishing the weld, Ratchet looked up and said, "They'd go faster if you weren't in here distracting my help."

"My apologies. I merely wanted an ETA, but considering the nature of what we're doing, I didn't want to comm. you."

"You mean the work you're not trusting with the manufacturers with? You bought a bunch of slagging cheap drones from all over the place and are expecting me to get them spark-ready in a far too short amount of time, Prime."

"Again, I apologize, Ratchet, but if we don't keep it secret and do this soon, it won't be done at all."

"You really believe that, don't you?" Ratchet said with a frown.

"With all my spark, old friend."

"Humph. If you'll get out of the way, we should have them done by the end of the solar cycle and at the Allspark Temple by early the next. Now leave!" Ratchet growled, waving a wrench threateningly. Optimus took the hint and ducked out of the room, only to run into an angry Elita-1.

"Ratchet, where's a private place the Prime and I can talk?" she called out, optics not leaving Optimus for a moment. Without looking up, Ratchet sent a comm. with a map, a security code, and a brief note that as long as that code was up, no one would bother them. Elita sent back a thank you before dragging Optimus off to the room and locking it with the security code.

"You know you're not supposed to dodge me and Aeterna. Especially not Aeterna when I'm busy leading the femmes."

"My apologies, beloved."

Elita shook her head. "How are we supposed to guard you if you won't let us? What are you up to that you don't want us involved?"

Optimus felt guilty, realizing he hadn't told either femme about what was going on in his effort to keep things secret. Traditionally, the small, fast, and deadly femmebuilds were the bodyguards of leading figures and the lead bodyguard of the Prime led the femmes. They obeyed no other, and Elita had gained the position automatically because she wasn't going to let another be in charge of her bonded's safety. Technically, as Prime's other bodyguard and Elita's sometimes lover, Aeterna was second-in-command and he really should have told her instead of dodging her.

"I am truly sorry, Elita. You were busy and I didn't think to tell Aeterna because I was trying to get this done as fast and silently as possible."

"What are you doing? That's an awful lot of protoforms Ratchet's working on. Are you planning on sparking them all?"

"Yes, before Megatron manages to get back into the Council's good graces. Traditionally new mechs are sparked to replace the ones that died, but considering Megatron's actions are what killed them, I'm going to give the new sparklings to the others who've requested. I can only do that now before the Council makes its decision."

"How do you know the Council will side with him?" Elita asked with a frown.

"I don't for certain," Optimus admitted with a sigh, "They may yet surprise me, but I'm not willing to take that chance, beloved."

"He made you angry with his actions, didn't he?" Elita stated, going straight for the reasoning behind this.

"Yes," Optimus admitted, "And I suspect he's so used to getting his way that it hasn't even occurred to him that not even he should waste life like that. This will hopefully be a wakeup call. At the very least, it might make him reconsider sending his troops to die if he knows they won't be easily replaced."

"Who knows about this?" Elita asked after a thoughtful pause.

"Prowl – it was his idea – Ratchet of course, Alpha Trion, and now you. I was planning on telling the new mentors late this solar cycle so they can come to the temple early the next. Quicksilver and the Collective might suspect. I can never tell what they do and do not know. I think Megatron also suspects, but he hasn't said or done anything. Indeed, I haven't seen him recently and that concerns me."

"You should tell your brother," Elita said suddenly and firmly. Optimus made his optics blink even as confusion colored his EM.

"Ultra Magnus? Why?"

"He wasn't involved in the Nebulos business. He retired to a civilian life just before, right?"

"Yes, he did."

"I know he was angry about the attack, and something tells me we'll need as much help tomorrow as we can get. I'm also placing my femmes as guards around the temple and you don't get any say on the matter."

"Of course not, Elita. I wouldn't dare," Optimus replied, sounding amused. Elita kissed the smile on his face.

"Now go on and get this crazy plan of yours going," she ordered, "And next time, tell me first!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Are you certain that this is the wisest course of action?" Ultra Magnus asked his brother as he watched the medics unload the finished protoforms into the Sparking Chambers. "The Council has yet to make their decision, after all."

"That's why it must be done now, and quickly," Optimus Prime replied as he continued with the preparations. Alpha Trion, who acted as the keeper of the Allspark Temple, normally did this, but he'd only had time to get started and give Optimus some last minute instructions before he'd had to show up at the Council Chambers in order to allay suspicion. Ultra Magnus watched him uncomfortably. Having been sparked early on in the last Quintesson War as a replacement for a dead soldier, Ultra Magnus was a good hundred vorns older than Optimus, who had been the next sparkling their mentor had raised. It didn't sit well with him to go against the Council he'd served for so long.

Ultra Magnus had never liked being a soldier, despite being sparked for it. Finally, within the past few vorns, he'd managed to strike a deal. A mech in the merchant class had died, and Magnus had requested his brother, Optimus, and his boss, Megatron, instead let him take the place of the dead merchant and the newly sparked mech take Magnus's place in Megatron's ranks. The deal was accepted and Magnus retired to the civilian life he'd always wanted. Now he was a merchant and quite enjoying it, but felt guilty he hadn't been there to talk sense into whatever idiot had thought attacking Nebulos had been a good idea.

Ultra Magnus still wasn't sure why he was at the Allspark Temple or even in the holy city of Simfur anyway. Elita and Optimus had implied it was to support his brother in his actions, actions he wasn't certain he truly supported considering it required sneaking behind the Council's back, but mostly he felt useless.

The head medic shouting, "Be careful with that, slaggit!" made Ultra Magnus pay closer attention to the medics. The average medic-build was designed to be sturdy enough to lift a mech, but they also had to be small enough to work on delicate wires and circuits. The largest protoform, which looked to be a heavy-duty construction-build, was giving them troubles. The head medic suddenly looked over at Magnus, appraising his large soldier's build.

"You, quit standing around. Get over here and help!"

"Me?" Ultra Magnus replied, startled.

"Yes, you idiot! Now move it!"

"It'd be a good idea to obey Ratchet before he starts throwing things at you. He has remarkable aim," the dark green and purple femme that had been introduced to him as Aeterna said with a smirk. Said femme was obviously standing guard over Optimus, which had added to Ultra Magnus's feeling of uselessness. Even he knew how long he could stand up to a well-trained femme, and it wasn't long at all. Taking the femme's advice, Magnus went over to help lift and carry the large protoform to the Sparking Chambers.

A cycle later, the protoforms were in the Sparking Chamber, basic programming downloaded and spark casings open and ready. Their future mentors had all finally arrived and were now standing proprietarily over their soon-to-be sparklings. The femmes including Elita and Aeterna and excluding the ones guarding the outside of the temple, the medics including Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus were all acting as the audience. Magnus felt nervous as Optimus started the traditional incantations, glad they were short and succinct. While he'd never witnessed a sparking before, he knew Optimus had never sparked a group this large before.

"Welcome to all who stand within these chambers, whether you have come here for a specific reason or just to observe. We come this cycle to stand before Primus as we claim a small part of His spark to create new life in His image. May he bless them," Optimus stated gravely before turning and pressing a hand against the Allspark in an odd pattern, something he'd no doubt been shown when he'd first become the Prime.

Ultra Magnus heard several of the gathered mechs gasp. He only just prevented himself from doing the same. Optimus was glowing brightly from his optics to the farthest reach of his EM, which crackled with power where it came into contact with the atmosphere of the rest of the world. Watching his younger brother standing there, Ultra Magnus was prepared to believe in Primus again.

"Bring forth the first," Optimus said, sounding like muted thunder. The new mentors shuffled and shifted before the yellow construction-build brought up the large protoform that was to be his sparkling. Optimus smiled at them before reaching out. The crackle of power on the edge of the Prime's EM gathered around his fingers before he gently pushed it into the spark chamber. The little ball of power separated off and glowed brightly before the spark casing automatically snapped shut in response to suddenly awakening protocols now that the protoform had a power source. The paint nanytes activated, turning a dusty green, before the blue optics on-lined.

"Live well and free," Optimus said, still smiling as the sparkling on-lined.

"Come on, Bulkhead. Lets get out of the way so the others can have their turn," the new mentor said softly, gently helping the wobbly if very large sparkling stand and walk to the edge of the chambers while the next one quickly took their place. Later, the mentors would use the sparklings' medical port where the back of the helm met the neck to download more specific protocols involving society and their expected place in it, as well as the more specific dangers of the world. For now, they knew enough to obey and trust any mech who was gentle towards them and were satisfied by looking around in utter curiosity or playing with some of the toys purposely placed at the edges of the Sparking Chambers to keep new sparklings occupied. Magnus found himself grinning as the large green sparkling pushed curiously against a fabric doll imported from Nebulos only to squeak and hide behind his mentor when the doll gave at his push. Said mentor chuckled and picked up the doll.

"Don't be afraid, Bulkhead. It's a toy. It can't hurt you," the yellow construction-build said before gently touching the toy to the sparkling's arm. "See, it can't even scratch you."

The sparkling looked at it before gingerly picking up the toy from his mentor's open hand. "Squishy!"

"Yes, it's very squishy. You have to be careful with it, or you might damage it. There are lots of things you'll need to be careful around, so always be gentle," the mentor said.

Ultra Magnus found himself nodding. These first few joors were important to a sparkling's formation. They imprinted on whoever they saw the most of the first few breems, and were very curious. What they learned greatly affected who they'd become. It was a good idea to make a larger mech aware of smaller and more breakable things in this time frame if you didn't want the said mech to bring about damage through sheer carelessness. And they were cute in those first few joors. After that, they learned to question the world around them and became little terrors, especially if you didn't train them right.

"So when are you planning on having one?" Aeterna asked quietly, making Magnus jump in surprise.

"I… hadn't thought about it."

"Hello. I'm Sunfire. What's your designation?" a minibot mentor suddenly asked curiously, having wandered over.

"Hello, Sunfire. I'm Ultra Magnus and this is Aeterna. I'm afraid I don't know your designations," Ultra Magnus said ending with a sheepish look at the construction-build and his sparkling. "I'm Grapple and this Bulkhead."

"Isn't this exciting? My mate and I were bonded less than an orn ago, and now we have a sparkling!" the minibot enthused, bouncing up and down.

"Congratulations."

"There you are! You'd best hold him for a bit as well, love, or he'll just imprint on me," a red minibot said as he arrived, a protective hold on the purple minibot sparkling he was leading about. Sunfire eagerly took the sparkling, humming a little as he stroked the sparkling's helm. The minibot sparkling gazed at him curiously before smiling a little and snuggling close, his EM field meshing happily with Sunfire's.

"Designation?" Bulkhead asked, pointing at the minibot sparkling.

"We hadn't decided on one yet. We're going to wait until we know more about this one's personality," the red minibot replied with an easy grin. "How about you? Getting along with your mentor?"

Bulkhead looked at Grapple before beaming. "Yes!"

"Good!"

Grapple chuckled before saying, "I'm going to teach him to build things, eventually. And if he has an artistic spark-gift like I do and I hope he does, I'll teach him how to make functional art."

"Art!" Bulkhead echoed, waving the toy. The minibot sparkling, who had been following said toy, suddenly made a grab for it.

"Want!"

"No! Mine!" Bulkhead screeched as he tried pulling the doll back.

"Now, now, play nice!" The resulting tussle was over quickly when the doll ripped. Ultra Magnus relaxed as the children separated. Sparklings or not, Bulkhead was big enough to cause major damage to the little minibot sparkling. It was just as well that the doll was the only thing damaged.

"I'm sorry," Sunfire apologized as he tried to sooth his upset and wildly wailing and clicking sparkling.

"Looks like we're going to have to teach the kid not to take on mechs several times his size," the red minibot stated ruefully.

"Sounds like he takes after you, love," Sunfire added cheerfully as their sparkling stopped the wailing and the clicks slowed, face still buried against Sunfire's throat.

"Hey!"

"It's okay," Grapple said even as he moved to take the broken pieces of the doll from Bulkhead. "This is why we have to be careful, Bulkhead. We can damage things easily and if it becomes too damaged, it can't be fixed and there are many things that can't be replaced. Next time, let them have the toy and then tell me and I'll see what I can do, okay?"

"Okay."

"I hope that… whoa!" the red minibot cried out as the building suddenly shook. Grapple and Sunfire clutched their sparklings protectively, as did the other mentors scattered about the chambers. Ultra Magnus was aware of Optimus looking up sharply before swiftly moving to the next protoform.

"Frag it all, we're under attack," Aeterna hissed quietly next to him before quickly moving away and Magnus suddenly realized why he'd been asked to attend. Optimus hadn't put it past Megatron trying to forcibly stop this from happening.

"Head for the exit," Ultra Magnus ordered the mentors and sparklings near him even as the sound of the femmes outside returning fire could be heard just before the building shook again.

"What?! But that's gunfire!" the red minibot shouted appalled.

"Gunfire? But that would mean someone's attacking the temple!" Sunfire cried out.

"But why? Why would anyone do such a thing?" Grapple rumbled even as he held Bulkhead close.

"No time to explain! We need to evacuate! You see the ceiling?"

Grapple looked up, covered his sparkling's audials, and cursed.

"What? What's wrong?" Sunfire asked, frightened, his sparkling starting to wail as their EMs clashed in response to their fear.

"The temple wasn't designed to withstand an attack. One more good hit, and the ceiling's going to collapse," Magnus replied even as Grapple started making for the exit, pulling Bulkhead behind him. The sparkling followed obediently, but was looking back and waving as he did. The minibots exchanged glances before following. No one got far before the temple shook again and what Ultra Magnus had feared occurred. Large portions of the ceiling caved in. While Grapple managed to catch and knock away a thick piece of ceiling that nearly got him and Bulkhead, one of the pieces of falling ceiling landed on the fleeing Sunfire and the sparkling. Judging by the red minibot's sudden howl of anguish, they hadn't survived. Ultra Magnus's spark went out to them, but he didn't have time to deal with that at the moment; his first duty was to the Prime and always had been and his brother had just disappeared under some rubble.

The Primes had been built fairly sturdy ever since a Quintesson assassinated one thousands of vorns ago, so Magnus had hope Optimus was still alive. Throwing away loose rock and metal, he found Optimus kneeling in an odd position, curled around a second body. Judging by the way the paint nanytes were coming to life and forming a cheerful reddish-orange, it was the last sparkling he'd sparked. There was no sign of the sparkling's would-be mentor. Optimus groaned and looked up at his brother before shoving the sparkling at Magnus.

"Take him," the Prime ordered as Magnus was forced to take the sparkling. Optimus stood and moved away, battered and paint nanytes scraped off in several places, but still alive. Magnus opened his mouth in protest, but a whine made him look down. The sparkling had just on-lined his optics and was staring up at him. Magnus held back a curse as he realized that unless he found someone else very quickly, he was going to end up being a mentor whether he wanted to be one or not.

"Listen to me well, little one. There are people hurt here and I need to help them. Helping someone is the most important thing you can ever do. Understand?" Magnus stated gruffly. The sparkling stared for a long breem before slowly nodding. "Good. Now come on then. You can help."

~*~*~*~*~*~

People always asked Optimus Prime if Primus had ever spoken to or with him, and he'd always been forced to admit that no, Primus hadn't. This was frustrating, because then it would be used as an excuse to prove Primus didn't exist when in fact they were asking the wrong question. Why would their god speak to Optimus when said god could get his point across through sheer emotion? And it was emotion that he felt every time he activated the Allspark.

Optimus had never activated the Matrix. He'd never needed to. But the memories of past Primes whispered at him sometimes in the dark, pieces of thought and emotion, of life and death, love and joy and anger and grief. Only three of the previous multitude of Primes had ever talked to Primus, and only once had it ever been more than a quick order not easily conveyed through emotion. This was why Optimus had been startled but not entirely surprised when a powerful voice had ripped through his very being and ordered, "PROTECT THE SPARKLING." And so, he'd grabbed the protoform in front of him right before the ceiling fell on top of him. He'd felt the power from the Allspark dissipate even as he felt the sparkling in his arms come to life, and Optimus knew in a sense of grim shock that this would be the last sparkling for a long time.

Ultra Magnus freed him quickly enough, for which Optimus was grateful and he'd express his gratitude later when a leader wasn't desperately needed. In the meantime, he gave Magnus the sparkling, feeling guilty for doing so but utterly trusting his brother to protect and care for the sparkling. He then quickly moved to where he could see Ratchet working on a damaged Elita-1, who was shooting at a group of flyers through the gaps overhead.

"Prime!" Ratchet shouted upon seeing him, gesturing him over with the obvious intention of fixing him.

"I'm fine for now, Ratchet. The damage is superficial. How are you?" Optimus asked, pointedly looking at where Ratchet was leaking down one arm.

"Half of the medics I brought are dead, Prime, and there's dead and injured civilians scattered everywhere."

"So are many of my femmes," Elita-1 said darkly even as she lined up another shot. "Megatron brought an army with him, and while we're giving as good as we get, they outnumber us." She fired and the off-lined seeker crashed into the far side of the chamber.

"Listen, I want you to gather up everyone who is still alive and get them to the exit at the back of the chambers and down into the Underground," Optimus ordered.

"What will you be doing?" Ratchet asked with a frown.

"Moving the Allspark."

"Not alone, you're not," Elita-1 retorted.

"But the civilians will need protection," Optimus Prime protested.

"Aeterna and the others can handle that."

"Elita," Optimus said, touching her facemask gently, "I just want you to be safe."

"I want the same for you too, Optimus, and since my job involves making sure you are, you're not getting rid of me."

"She's got you beat, so I suggest you go along with it," Ratchet advised as he finished subspacing his tools and picked up the nearest living mech who couldn't walk.

"Thank you, Ratchet," Elita-1 said sweetly even as the two other not-as-injured mechs nearby chuckled. Then she sighted down her gun again and took another shot, cursing as it only clipped the seeker roaring overhead.

Optimus Prime carefully picked his way across the room over to the huge cube known to all Cybertronians as the Allspark. He moved with care because he knew there were mechs still buried and he didn't want to accidentally crush anyone still alive. If they survived this attack, then there was a possibility they could be rescued. The other occupants of the Sparking Chambers, or rather the ones that could move or be moved, were limping out in a ragged line. A mech with no arms was helping support one missing a leg. Another mech, broken leg dragging painfully behind, was carrying a squalling sparkling who was too young to understand what was going on and just knew that he was frightened. The other surviving sparklings were silent, but hung or clung close to the nearest adult. The roof cave-in hadn't spared them, either; the lucky ones were just dented but many were worse. Optimus Prime's spark went out to them, regretting he'd brought them into a life that was proving to be very painful.

The Allspark loomed above him now, so Optimus pressed a hand to its side, temporarily shutting down the video-feed from his optics as he focused on the emotions rushing into him. There was the ever-present sense of pure love, but there was also sadness… no, grief and understanding. An image appeared in his processor and Optimus on-lined his optics in shock before pressing where the image had shown him to. There was nothing for a long moment, and then the Allspark started shrinking in upon itself.

"I didn't know it could do that," Elita-1 said, awed that the relic was subspacing a large part of its mass.

"Here you are!" a blue and green seeker suddenly cried out in triumph as he landed in the chamber, moving without care over the rubble so that he stood between Optimus Prime, Elita-1, and the escaping civilians. A sudden cry rent the air as the red minibot, who had been lagging at the back of the group of civilians, attacked the seeker with his fists and feet. The seeker stumbled back in surprise.

"What the…?" Then the seeker realized what had attacked him. He plucked up the minibot with a sickening grin and squeezed until the minibot cried out in pain.

"Pathetic pile of scrap metal! Do you really think you can damage me? You'd need a gun at the least. Scratch that, you'd need a gun bigger than you are to take me out!" the seeker pompously told the minibot. The minibot responded by biting the seeker, dentals slicing through a few wires. The seeker made a pained noise before flinging the minibot against the wall near where the seeker's brethren had crashed earlier. Then he turned and grabbed at Optimus Prime, who'd tried to use the distraction to reach the exit.

"Where do you think you're going?" the seeker snarled as he shoved Optimus Prime back. Elita-1 responded by firing on the seeker. The seeker yelped before dodging and grabbing Elita-1's gun and the arm holding said gun and crushing them. Elita-1's electronic screech of pain echoed, causing Aeterna, the last at the exit, to turn and start to head back.

"Aeterna!" Optimus shouted, throwing the small cube that was the Allspark's current form at the femme. Aeterna caught it, nodded in understanding, before fleeing through the door. The door swung shut and sealed.

"No!" the seeker screamed as he dropped Elita-1 and moved towards the door.

"Leave it," a new voice ordered. Optimus, who'd paused to help up Elita, looked up, spark sinking as he recognized the voice.

"Megatron."

"But Lord Megatron, they have the Allspark!" the seeker protested.

"And that is a quantum lock. They're heading into the Underground most likely, but they have to surface sometime. We will get the Allspark then. In the meantime, there is more than one way to create a sparkling. Isn't that right, Optimus?" Megatron said, purring the last bit as he stepped closer to Optimus.

"Over my off-lined chassis!" Elita-1 roared, leaping at Megatron. The damage she caused was minor before Megatron grabbed her and thrust her at the seeker.

"That can be arranged. Hold her."

"Elita!" Optimus called out, moving to free his bonded. Megatron grabbed him. Optimus twisted free, prompting Megatron to smack him hard enough that Optimus staggered back until he caught himself on a fallen pillar. Megatron pounced on him and started trying to pry open the plates on Optimus Prime's chest. Optimus swung and kicked at Megatron, untrained but still fighting desperately. Megatron growled and smacked Optimus again.

"If you'd just be still, this would go faster and be much less painful," the larger mech hissed. Optimus realized in shock that quickly morphed to fear, then anger, that Megatron really expected him to just lie still as Megatron forced him to bear spark after spark.

"No!" Optimus Prime roared, managing to knock Megatron back.

"Hey, airhead! This a big enough gun?"

The seeker looked and saw the red minibot with a gun bigger than he was, salvaged from the dead seeker next to him. The seeker panicked and moved right into the shot as the minibot fired. Elita-1 landed with a thump, but quickly stood, unsubspaced a new gun, and attacked Megatron again even as the minibot tried shooting him. While the first shots were wild because the minibot was untrained, he was quickly getting better. Megatron frowned and rose, distracted enough that Optimus was able to push the larger mech into the line of fire. A few of the minibot's shots damaged Megatron's right arm and leg, although the ones hitting his chassis were unable to penetrate the thick armor. It was Elita-1's shot right at Megatron's left optic that made him roar in pain. The optic was shattered, sending painful warnings all down his HUD, and the faceplates around it cracked, allowing ferrofluid to seep out like black tears.

Optimus ran, grabbing Elita-1 and then the minibot as they entered the next room and then the twisted halls of the inner temple complex. They could hear Megatron behind them when Optimus stopped and pried up a trapdoor that meshed perfectly with the floor, knocking some rubble loose as he did so.

"You first," Elita-1 ordered, pushing the minibot, still holding his huge weapon, toward the steps carved into the metallic underbelly of the temple that was normally covered by the imported stone, before pointing at Optimus, "Then you."

Optimus nodded. "Just do me a favor and shoot at the ceiling once you're nearly through the trap door."

"Why do that?" the minibot asked, pausing as he climbed down, gun clanging softly against his back before he thought to subspace it.

"It'll make the ceiling collapse the rest of the way in this section and hide the trap door if we close it quickly enough."

"Oh. Careful down here. It's kind of slick," the minibot called out to Optimus as the Prime quickly followed him down.

"Thank you… I'm afraid I can't recall your designation and your image doesn't match the list of mentors."

"That's because my bonded Sunfire was the one you called here. I'm Cliffjumper. And I didn't really do it for you, sir. Sunfire and our sparkling are among the dead up there. I wanted to die, or at least make the ones responsible hurt as badly as I do."

A rumble from above made them look up to see Elita-1 rapidly coming down, stone dust and pieces of metal that had made it through the gap showering around her. She jumped about halfway down, landing firmly, before giving Cliffjumper a look, EM registering pity and empathy.

"Where's your other trine mate?" she asked gently as they started down the sloping metal tunnel.

"We weren't a trine. We'd talked about maybe doing one eventually, but we're not going to have a chance now."

"Then how are you still alive?" Elita-1 asked, surprised. Bonded mechs didn't tend to survive losing a bonded unless they had more than one bonded to begin with. The shock of suddenly losing what felt like half their spark tended to put your average mech into a stasis lock they'd never wake up from, their systems dying as they refused fuel and other necessaries.

"I don't know. I think that, maybe, because we were bonded for less than an orn my spark might remember how to be alone. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like the Pit, if you'll forgive my language. Next time, do me a favor and don't grab me before I can die, okay?"

"I sworn worse, so don't worry," Elita-1 told him, even as she gave Optimus a concerned look over the suicidal minibot's helm. They finally reached the door leading to the Underground proper, where they had room to transform and drive.

"Elita, you lead. We cannot use the comm. frequencies and your connection to Aeterna is stronger than mine." Elita obeyed without complaint and the three of them traveled in silence amid strange shapes into the deep dark of the Underground.

~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. Part 1: Chapter 2

**Part 1: Alpha of War**

_Chapter 2_

Aeterna was overjoyed to see them when Optimus Prime, Elita-1, and Cliffjumper caught up with the others, who were resting in a wide corner of the forbidding Underground.

"Thank Primus you're alive!"

"The same to you, my dear," Elita-1 replied, taking the other femme's hand and letting their EMs mingle pleasantly.

"The Allspark?" Optimus asked even as he gestured Cliffjumper over towards the medics who were working on the injured bots around them.

"Over here, Prime," Ratchet called from near the center of the group. "When we found out the slagging thing couldn't be subspaced, we decided it would be best to have it surrounded on all sides."

"Ratchet! That's the Allspark you're talking about!" Elita-1 exclaimed.

"And I can fragging well curse it out if I wish," Ratchet grumbled and he fit two pieces of metal together and welded them, the sparkling having stopped whimpering long enough to notice his pain receptors had been turned off and now watching in fascination as Ratchet worked on his leg.

"Fraggin'!" the sparkling exclaimed with a giggle even as said sparkling's mentor gave Ratchet a dirty look.

"I will thank you to not teach Hot Rod such language yet," Ultra Magnus uttered gruffly.

"He's going to learn "such language" sooner or later," Ratchet said grumpily as he finished the weld and began scanning the sparkling for any other damage.

"But it didn't have to be during his first solar cycle," Magnus lamented.

"So you've designated him?" Optimus asked happily.

"He's imprinted on me, so yes."

"I was meaning to ask, but what happened to his leg?" Optimus asked, knowing that leg hadn't been injured when he'd first rescued the sparkling.

"Another part of the ceiling caved while we were heading into the Underground. We lost two more mechs – a bonded pair – and both Hot Rod here and the surviving minibot sparkling were damaged," Ratchet replied, trying to mask his concern.

"He was trying to help," Ultra Magnus added ruefully.

"Help!" the sparkling agreed.

"Speaking of minibots, I need you to take a look at Cliffjumper, the minibot who helped Elita and myself escape. He was thrown into a wall and his only bonded is dead."

"Oh, yes, Sunfire. He talked to Grapple and I about being newly bonded before he died," Ultra Magnus said sadly.

Ratchet cursed even as he turned back on Hot Rod's pain receptors. "Slag it all to dross, I might be able to do something about the physical damage, but matters of the spark? And my psychiatrist was one of the medics I lost back there."

Ultra Magnus glared at Ratchet's retreating back before looking at Hot Rod and saying, "I don't want to ever hear you repeating any new words you learn from Ratchet."

"Yes, sir," Hot Rod said obediently.

:Sir?: Optimus asked his brother over the comm.. The sparklings wouldn't have figured out their comm. units yet, making it easy to keep conversations from them.

:It's what everyone keeps calling me, so now he thinks it's my designation. I haven't had time to correct him yet, but having him call me sir isn't necessarily a bad thing, considering it looks like I'm going to have to train him as a soldier,: Magnus said unhappily.

:I'm sorry. I know you prefer civilian life.:

"It's not your fault, Optimus," Magnus said aloud. He looked around and cycled his vents, before turning back to his younger brother. "What now?"

"This portion of the Underground stretches to Iacon. We need to get to the Council and tell them what happened."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

There was a huge stir when Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus walked into the Council Chambers. There were cries of shock and alarm and a few mechs even stood. Optimus paused for a moment, wondering what was causing the Council's outburst. Then a glance at Ultra Magnus reminded him that he, Magnus, and Hot Rod were all obviously physically damaged. The sparkling had enjoyed riding with Magnus, but had become clingy once they'd reached Iacon and refused to walk on his injured leg. Magnus was currently holding him, hand curled protectively around the recently repaired leg, weld still obvious to anyone who looked. Hot Rod had buried his faceplates against Ultra Magnus, but was peeking out at the crowd.

"Frag it all, don't stand there! Go fetch the Prime's medic," Alpha Trion ordered a page.

"Ratchet is busy. We were some of the least injured," Optimus said quietly.

"In what?" Council-member Tristar of Praxis demanded to know.

"In the attack on the Allspark Temple in Simfur, my lords," Ultra Magnus answered. The Council's voices roared in a cacophony of shouts and orders. Alpha Trion spoke up loudly, causing those beside him to quiet down and look at him in interest. The dying of the noise caused the others to fall silent in a wave.

"How many are dead?" Alpha Trion repeated.

"Unknown as of this time. We were forced to leave people behind when we fled. The others who fled with us are currently in Iacon's main medical center. Together, the known survivors total thirty-nine," Optimus stated gravely.

"Out of what?"

"One hundred sixty-eight," Magnus replied. There were shocked murmurs all around the chamber. That left nearly one hundred and thirty Cybertronians dead or missing, an unheard of number since the last Quintesson War.

"But surely Megatron would have stopped an outside threat before it came to this!" Council-member Fireshield exclaimed in fright.

"Megatron and his troops were the attackers," Optimus said darkly.

"That is a serious accusation, Prime," Council-member Tristar pointed out with a deep frown.

"I know who I saw and what he tried to do," Optimus said, hand straying unconsciously to his damaged chest-plating. Optics followed the movement and bodies shuddered. To try to force one's way into a mech's chassis outside of medical necessity was bad enough, but to do so to the Prime, who carried the Matrix next to his spark chamber?

"Sirs, we've got the satellites above Simfur transmitting now," a page announced.

"About time!" Council-member Stormwatcher said. Everyone quickly turned to the screen flickering to life as it was patched into the satellite network.

The Allspark Temple looked horrible. Large amounts of roof were gone and smoke billowing in one spot suggested the building was on fire. Even as they watched, a flight of seekers, the Cybertronian military symbol conspicuously tattooed on their wings, flew down low and carpet bombed the temple. Metal bent, rock crumbled, and a few more fires started where they found something flammable. Optimus mourned, knowing anyone who'd survived the ceilings collapsing weren't likely to survive the carpet bombing. An emergency crew was trying to reach the temple, but more fire from the seekers forced them back. Answering fire from a small group of femmes dug into a sturdy overhanging allowed the emergency personnel to reach them. The screen suddenly flickered and Megatron's head filled the view.

"Ah, so the Council decided to finally watch," Megatron practically purred. "There's something else I'd like you to see." Screens all around the chamber flickered to life.

"He's hacking into the world-wide communications system!"

"People of Cybertron! I am Lord High Protector Megatron and I come before you this cycle to request your assistance. For too long we've let the few rule the many and they have grown rich and lazy on the power we have given them. Under their rule, necessities such as fuel have become so expensive only the elite can afford it, leaving those who work so hard to maintain our incredible society surviving on the dregs of their leavings. I have found a way to reverse that! But already the Prime himself has made it clear he thinks cheap fuel is wrong and refuses to do his duty until the status quo is once again maintained.

"Come! Join me! Together we can bring those who try to trod us underfoot to their knees!"

Perhaps it was their imaginations, but the watchers could swear they heard an answering roar. Then the screens died to a single two-way.

"Megatron, what have you done?" Optimus moaned.

"What was necessary, Prime. It is for the glory of Cybertron. Why can you not realize that?" Megatron replied, sounding frustrated.

"Because it is wrong! Bringing back our civilization by destroying countless others is not right!" Optimus argued. Megatron frowned, then turned to the Council.

"My demands are simple. I want the Prime and the Allspark under my control and your support for doing what is right for Cybertron."

There was silence for a long nanobreem, then Quicksilver, who had been silent until this point, stood and said, "Attacking the Temple is an act of war and now it appears you are trying to foment a rebellion in order to hold us hostage. Why should we agree?"

"So the Collective is standing against us?" Megatron asked harshly.

"No," Quicksilver said, "Nor are we standing with you. Anyone who commits an act of war on Cybertron, including choosing to fight for or against anything, will have no support from the Collective. We will excommunicate anyone and everyone if necessary. Good luck with your war with no credits to back you up." Then the Collector stalked out of the chamber. Megatron growled, then smoothed out his features, a reminder that he could be charming when he wished to be.

"I hope the rest of the Council will not be so rash in their decision," Megatron said before looking at Optimus. "You should have bonded with me, Optimus." It sounded like a threat and Optimus unconsciously folded his arms protectively over his spark chamber in response before he turned and left even as the screen died and the remaining Council members began to shout. Ultra Magnus, carrying Hot Rod, followed. Hot Rod had his hands over his audials and complained, "Loud!"

"Yes, they are," Magnus agreed.

"Quicksilver!" Optimus called out, seeing the Collector ahead. The silver mech slowed, then stopped, cycling his vents.

"If you are planning on thanking me, Prime, don't. The Collective's decision means that unless you turn yourself in to Megatron along with the Allspark, which I doubt you'll do, then you're on your own as well." Then Quicksilver smiled. "Looks like I'm going to have to take a rain-check on that interface you promised. The Collective is calling all of us home."

"I… understand," Optimus said. Quicksilver gave him a sharp look. Optimus would later realize that the Collector already knew how world-shaking this would become.

"I wonder if you truly do." The he turned and left.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

The Collective's Central Information Exchange was a large open area in their main building. Only Collective members were allowed in here, and it was always busy, but oddly hushed, as if the room's occupants were afraid of making too loud a noise. In truth, most of the communication being done was just non-verbal. A multitude of Collectables were wired into the central exchange, each with a specialty-build Collector called a Communicator assigned to them. The Collectables were the main information storage and processors. Here, they communicated with each other and their designated partner, sending out staggering amounts of information and gathering much more.

If the Collectables were the brains in this room, then the Communicators were their bodies. Each Communicator was an engineering marvel: a standard-sized mech that was a state-of-the-art communication array. What was more, while the average Collector was built with multiple ports to facilitate information gathering, Communicators only had a medical port. Instead, they had multiple spikes designed to create a full-loop connection that normally required a minimum of two mechs to be plugged into each other. The spikes were also deliberately created to be much longer than average and were prehensile to boot. The average Communicator spent his day plugged into his partner Collectable, a range-booster for his comm. array, and/or any Collector who'd come in for a data exchange or data dump.

Blaster had been idly monitoring his array while between Collectors, an action that mainly consisted of hacking any communication and recording the conversations as per orders. The only exceptions were quantum-level encryptions, mostly because they hadn't figured out how to hack those yet, and high-profile areas like the Allspark Temple and the Council Chambers. Those were the realm of the highest ranking Collective members, the ones who never left the building because the information they held was too valuable. Despite that, every Communicator had hacked into at least one high-profile area, if only to prove they could. A hack into the satellites over the Allspark Temple by someone using Council-style encryption caught Blaster's attention and prompted him to carefully hack into the Council feeds. Thus, he got a front-row seat, as it were, for Megatron's speech, including the non-public bits.

:You seeing this, Tel?: Blaster sent to his partner over their link-up so they couldn't be hacked.

:Yes, and I'm receiving more from my fellow Collectables,: Teletraan replied, sending Blaster information about the ongoing attack on the Allspark Temple. A muted murmur broke out in the huge room as every Communicator shared first the public speech to their Collectable and any Collector currently plugged in, and then the private one as it got shared around. It took hard work to hide anything from the members of the Collective; they were natural-built gossips. A ping warning about a Collective-wide comm. from the highest ranks silenced them. To Blaster's surprise, acknowledged and echoed by Teletraan, a Communicator a few mechs down kept working.

:The words stated by our member Quicksilver is our official decision on the matter. Anyone taking sides is to be immediately excommunicated per our orders. This includes fellow Collective-members. All members not currently there are to return to home base immediately. That is all.:

The Communicator who'd continued working during the announcement suddenly stood and stated, "Acknowledged. All Hail Lord Megatron," in his disturbingly blank multi-tonal before disconnecting and walking out, leaving shocked mechs in his wake. Blaster had never liked Soundwave – anyone willing to erase part of their personality core to free up more memory gave him the creeps – but he'd never expected that of his fellow Communicator. The Collective had actually congratulated Soundwave for his diligence when it got out he'd erased part of his personality. For him to suddenly leave?

:Quick, Tel, find out what Soundwave was working on before they finish excommunicating him!: Blaster sent his partner.

:Already did,: Teletraan replied smugly, sending Blaster an info. pack.

:Symbiotes? Why was he looking into symbiotes?:

:I do not know. Perhaps he wishes to create some?:

:Come off it, Tel. No one's had symbiotes since the last group died a megavorn ago. Something about splitting your spark to create highly dependent individuals throws bots off.:

:Nevertheless. After all, how much use is a Communicator with nothing to communicate with?:

:You think he's going to use the information to create symbiotic Collectors for Megatron?: Blaster asked, shocked.

:I do not know what to think, beyond that our Prime and anyone working with him are going to have trouble on their hands if Soundwave succeeds. Even if he doesn't, he's still an expert at hacking communications. All you Communicators are,: Teletraan replied. Blaster cursed quietly.

:You thinkin' what I am?:

:Yes. Now if you would, I'd like your help collecting as much data as possible before we're excommunicated. I will collate it later.:

:Right on!:

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"I fear I am leading our planet to destruction," Optimus lamented quietly as several bots gathered in his quarters. He couldn't explain it, but it felt as if Cybertron itself were shivering, although no one else seemed to notice.

"Be as it may, we can't afford to let Megatron get a hold of you or the Allspark, sir," Prowl stated. Optimus nodded.

"Yes. Our one world in exchange for the safety of countless others."

"Are you so certain of our destruction, Prime?" Aeterna asked archly in the suddenly quiet room.

"Aside from a visit from the Unmaker himself, nothing could be more damaging to our home. Megatron has already made it clear by attacking the temple that he is willing to raze any and every part of Cybertron to its struts. He will destroy much searching for the ability to create new life," Optimus told the crowd. Ferrofluid faces furrowed and EMs registered how seriously the gathered were taking the Prime's words.

"How about taking it off-world, then?" a new voice asked. Optimus frowned slightly. The crowd had slowly but steadily grown bigger the past joor and he hadn't been aware of the arrival of this particular mech.

"Hello, Grimlock," Optimus said, coolly polite.

"Now don't be like that, Prime," the large black bot with colorful trim said with a sneer. "I know we don't get along. Something about me thinking power belongs in the hands of the strong and you thinking it shouldn't."

"That sounds about right," Optimus acknowledged, "Which leads me to wonder why you're here." Grimlock cycled his vents rapidly, not unlike a snort.

"Don't go chasing away your help, Prime. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's abuse of power, and killing innocents like them," here Grimlock paused and gestured at where Hot Rod and the large Bulkhead were quietly playing, "in order to gain a way to create more innocents so they can be sent into battle? That's abuse of power. You and I have our differences, but I trust you to do what is right as long as your spark exists."

"Sirs! We've just caught two members of Megatron's army! They say they're deserters!" an energetic young femme announced as she led in two battle-scarred bots, one a mech and the other a femme.

"Arcee! You should know better!" Elita-1 snapped as she quickly strode over. "Not only did you not detain them properly, but you left them their weapons!"

As if on cue, the large cannon-like gun the mech held whirred to life. He pointed it at the Prime, then shut it down before swinging the weapon so the handle faced Optimus.

"So you do have someone who knows what they're doing," the mech grunted gruffly. "I was beginnin' to think otherwise, letting me get this far with my weapons all on. You can have this one. The others are kinda attached, though." The red and black mech folded his bulky arms, only to startle when Ratchet practically attacked him.

"They're offline now," Ratchet growled as he unplugged the datapad from his victim's medical port as quickly as he'd plugged it in. "And if you go waving another of those slagging cannons at our Prime, I will remove them with a _welding torch_."

"Fine, fine. You'll online them again later, right?"

"No."

"What?"

"You heard me," Ratchet said, smirking now.

"Oh, don't pout, sweetspark. You deserve that and you know it," the blue femme chuckled. "Now tell 'em why we're here."

"Right. I'm Ironhide and that's my femme, Chromia."

"Your femme?" Elita-1 asked, EM sharpening dangerously.

"Oh, don't get your tension-wires all knotted. I'm his bond mate and he's adorably possessive. Ain't he just precious?" Chromia said with a wide grin as Ironhide's EM blushed. Elita-1 arched an optic ridge at her, but was silent.

"Yeah, well, ahem," Ironhide shuffled, EM still red in embarrassment. "Anyways, when Megatron ordered the attack on the Nebulans, we refused to fight. He's had a bounty on us ever since. And now that you're standing up ta him, we thought we could help, either as soldiers or perhaps by helping you shape this lot of civilians inta fighting force."

"Your Old Ironhide, hero of the last Quintesson War, aren't you?" Ultra Magnus suddenly spoke up. "I didn't know you were still online."

"I'm online alright. I ain't that old, youngling," Ironhide replied.

"Old enough if you're calling my older brother a youngling," Optimus pointed out with a small smile.

"Yeah, well, I still gotta lot of fight in me yet."

"I'm sure you do," Optimus agreed. "And your help would be most welcome. You've reminded me that we're taking on a trained army and most of us do not know how to fight."

"No time like the present. You've got some leeway while Megatron gathers all his troops and waits to see what side everyone takes. I suggest you learn to use that gun I gave ya."

"Agreed," Prowl spoke up, "But we also need to decide what to do about the Allspark. As you pointed out, sir, Megatron em_will_/em tear apart Cybertron looking for it."

"That sounds 'bout right," Ironhide agreed, Chromia nodding behind him.

"I still say we get it off of Cybertron in that case," Grimlock grumbled.

"That would work, but only if ya make it so Megatron knows it's off-world and outta his reach," Chromia said.

"How about a space bridge set on random? Easy enough to lose something that way," Cliffjumper pointed out from where he was perched on a piece of Prime-sized furniture.

"You know about space bridges?" Grapple asked in surprise.

"I've been through one. One of the workers told me it was possible for a space bridge to warp objects randomly. A scientist would probably know more."

"Then it seems we require a scientist," Optimus said.

"Now hold on one breem! Getting the Allspark away for now is a good idea, but what about finding the slagging thing later?" Ratchet spoke up.

"Unless I'm remembering wrong, they also have a way of locating their deep-space explorers. We could probably use something like that to locate the Allspark once this is all over," Prowl suggested. Optimus nodded.

"You know how to fight, yes?" he asked Prowl.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'll leave the scientists to you while the rest of us start our training."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

The chemical metallurgist and the engineer exchanged dismayed looks as the new super-hard alloy they were trying to design into a new type of armor went critically unstable before they both ran for cover. BOOM!

"Well, that wasn't too bad!" the engineer cheerfully said as he tried to rub the soot and ash off of his frame.

"Only you would declare an explosion 'not too bad', Wheeljack," Perceptor calmly pointed out as he tallied himself, his partner, and the room for damages. Aside from some dents and being absolutely filthy as the explosion had caught some organic dirt and plant samples and incinerated anything it hadn't sent flying, he and Wheeljack were fine. The experiment, however…

"We're going to have to initiate the project from the beginning. Again."

"You still have your notes, right? And I have mine. It'll be easy and we'll be able to figure out where we went wrong."

"Perceptor? Wheeljack! What are you two doing here?" a new voice asked, blinking large optics at him. A few fellow scientists were behind him, no doubt wondering whose experiment had taken a turn for the worst.

"Working, of course. That is what this facility is for, is it not?" Perceptor said as he unsubspaced a polishing rag and used it to clean himself up.

"Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?" Wheeljack asked, audials flashing to match the color of his confused EM.

"Primus, have you been in here all orn? When's the last time you refueled?" one asked as another announced, "Megatron declared war on the Prime and attacked the Allspark Temple and the Collective excommunicated them both and anyone siding with either of them!"

"WHAT?"

That was the mess Prowl was ushered into. He stood, looking at the damaged lab as the intern who'd led him there worriedly said, "He says he's here on business for the Prime." Several of the scientists hanging around hurried away at that, not looking at the black and white mech. Prowl spared them a dispassionate glance before focusing on the ones who remained.

"Who is in charge?" he asked.

"Since I'm the furthest up the hierarchy here, I guess I am," Wheeljack said from his position sitting on the floor. He offered Prowl a grubby hand. Prowl looked at it for a long nanobreem before gingerly taking it and helping the mech up.

"I'm Wheeljack. And don't worry about the mess. An experiment we were working on decided to explode. You're here on behalf of the Prime?"

"Yes. I'm Prowl. I am, or was, head of the Security Division. You know what has happened?"

"We were recently informed of the current state of affairs," Perceptor replied blankly as he started to clean, already calculating what needed to be done next.

"Then you know the risk you run helping us."

"Yes, yes," Wheeljack waved away Prowl's concern. "What did you need?"

"The Prime fears Megatron will destroy more than the Temple looking for the Allspark. We plan on taking it off-world in such a way that Megatron knows it's not here but is out of his reach."

"You'll need the space bridge," the third remaining scientist noted.

"Yes," Prowl agreed. "We understand it's possible to set a space bridge on random?"

"Oh, very easily. Fixing it afterwards, though, is a bit of a pain," Wheeljack said.

"Actually, making sure Megatron and his troops can't use the space bridge afterward would be a good idea," said Prowl.

"In that case, it's incredibly easy," Wheeljack replied happily.

"So you're planning on just losing the Allspark in space?" the third scientist asked with a frown, twitching his large frame slightly as he tried to find a more comfortable position for his wings. Prowl looked up at the seeker-build and nodded.

"Yes, although we'd also like you to design a way for us to find it again. Something Megatron and his troops won't be able to easily find or use."

"A deep-space beacon could work, especially if you designed it to randomly send scientific information like a deep-space explorer would. You can even use my partner's information and call-signature. Most bots don't even know he's dead yet," the third scientist suggested helpfully.

"Are you certain about that?" Wheeljack asked, expressing concern. "It might be best for you to grieve Skyfire's loss properly, Starscream. Not to mention it seems disrespectful to use a dead mech's call-signature."

Starscream scowled at Wheeljack as he said, "Yes, I'm certain. The only ones who know he's gone are in this room aside from two debriefers and low-level scientist. And don't you dare tell me how to grieve."

"I'm sorry, Starscream," Wheeljack said, holding his hands and arms out in a gesture meant to display vulnerability.

"It is a sound proposal," Perceptor spoke up before turning to Prowl and explaining, "Starscream is normally on deep-space explorations with his colleague, but Skyfire had a regrettable accident recently. Starscream returned from the ordeal this past orn. We'd dispatch someone else to assist, but Starscream's current status is thwarting his aspiration to depart and even if we did have another entity accessible who was constructed to survive such an extreme voyage, we don't dare send anyone out unaccompanied. Being isolated in deep space is enough to induce madness in your standard mech, aside from present company. Starscream and Skyfire are… were our most superlative deep-space team."

"I understand and am sorry for your loss. In the meantime, I'm worried about these other three you mentioned. What is to prevent them from telling what they know?" Prowl asked. Starscream nodded in acknowledgement of Prowl's sympathy before thinking seriously about the question.

"I have an idea. Just leave them to me. I'll also see about preparing Skyfire's records for our use if you'll start on making a beacon we can attach to the Allspark."

Two joors later had Prowl, Perceptor, and Wheeljack standing in front of Optimus Prime, explaining in hushed tones what the deep space beacon was designed to do.

"And where is this third scientist, Starscream, you keep mentioning," Optimus asked quietly even as he brought out the Allspark and carefully attached the device using a strong magnet.

"He said he had a few loose ends he needed to tie up before joining us," Wheeljack replied with a shrug.

_Meanwhile, deep in Iacon's Science Academy…_

"Oh, Starscream! I'm so glad you're here!" the slightly smaller yellow and green mech bubbled happily as he waved at the screen in front of him. "I've just picked up Skyfire's call-signature on Cybertron! And you thought he was dead."

"He is dead," Starscream said as he pulled out the null ray all deep space explorers were equipped with in case they encountered dangerous conditions. At a distance, it could knock a mech unconscious. Close up and with the right setting, it could pulverize rock. "And now so are you."

The scientist's ferrofluid face locked into an expression of surprise as he fell back from the force of the shot, his spark chamber damaged beyond repair and memory core fried by the sheer power of the electrical pulse. Then the electromagnetic field holding the magnetic fluid in place died along with the rest of him, letting the dark liquid metal drain away from the skull-like faceplates where it mingled on the floor with spilt lubricant and energon. The air stunk of electrical discharge, bodily fluids, and fear. Satisfied his victim was dead and no one would be able to retrieve his memory core, Starscream subspaced the null ray and left with a small, deranged smile.

"Three down, two more to go."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

It was becoming obvious to those at the epicenters that the world was shaking. However, even they didn't know that this was just the beginning.

Getting a hold of any supplies was a real pain now that they'd been excommunicated by the Collective. No credits meant they couldn't buy goods. The only things of monetary value anyone had were gathered in the Prime's palatial building or fiercely hoarded by individual mechs. They might not be able to afford to rent the place, but not even the Collective was willing to kick them out as long as Optimus was there. Finding and purchasing a space-worthy ship was impossible, which is why they'd lucked out when an Elite decided to join them, bringing his own private planet-hopper stuffed with as many odds and ends as he'd thought would be useful, which ranged from a small stockpile of energon to hard credits no merchant would turn down and several expensive goods that could be sold for more hard credits.

All together, a little over one hundred and fifty bots were willing to stand for their morals despite the consequences, making them a ridiculously small army. Many had even worked under the Prime in various capacities. Recent news was that Megatron's troops were calling themselves the Decepticons, so talk tended to be about what to call themselves. Autobots was currently winning. At the moment, those not on the recharge shift because there weren't enough berths to go around were training with the femmes and Ironhide, working on forming various stockpiles and underground supply chains, or were one of the small team of scientists trying to make the planet-hopper space-worthy. Prowl had just returned from trying to arrange a supply chain of medical goods and was feeling frustrated.

"Prime, if I could speak with you, sir?"

"Prowl, my friend, you do not need to call me sir. And if you would join us? We were just discussing space-battle tactics for the team going to the space bridge."

"Maybe later, sir, or in private. Right now, the rank and file need to know who is in charge," Prowl replied as he fell in step beside Optimus over to where a large table had been set out in the large hall. A holographic space map shimmered above it and Grimlock was pointing at it while shouting something incomprehensible over the hubbub of the hall at Ratchet. Ratchet was yelling back, not the least bit intimidated by the larger mech, while Ultra Magnus watched them as if it were a sports match of some sort. The medic perked up when he saw Prowl.

"Did you get all the medical supplies I asked for?" Ratchet eagerly asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. I did manage to get a good number of the smaller items on your list, but the larger ones are beyond what we can afford right now," Prowl replied, handing Ratchet a datapad listing the medical supplies just obtained.

"Well, at least I'll be able to manufacture spare parts with the equipment you did get and there's enough EMPs to go around my team, but why the frag didn't you get any back-up protoforms? We need those so that if someone gets too injured, I can move their spark to the new protoform."

"I am aware of that, but I was unable to get any. And I do need to speak to you about that, Optimus Prime, sir," Prowl replied, addressing the first bit to Ratchet and the last to the Prime.

"Slaggit! Even a few is better than none! If necessary, I could tear apart the old chassis and rebuild it into a new protoform," Ratchet said, very unhappy.

"I could not get any, Ratchet, because the Collective put in an order to every protoform factory on Cybertron for a grand total of twenty-thousand protoforms. All the factories are over-booked and over-worked trying to meet the order."

"WHAT?!" Ratchet bellowed even as the others at the table looked shocked. The three protoform factories to survive this long were barely used these days, as new mechs were rarely needed. Most of the work done was for medical protoforms, and even those weren't in terribly high demand as most medical centers had a small stockpile of medical protoforms these days. It would take a long time for the severely short-staffed factories to make that many protoforms.

"Frag it all, we don't have time to deal with this," Ultra Magnus sighed.

"The factory heads would make such a deal when we are at war?" Grimlock growled angrily. Prowl gestured in the negative.

"When I talked to the foremen, they all sounded regretful of the deal, despite how well they're being paid for it, because it had been made before the foremen had been aware of the attack on the Allspark Temple."

"Then what in the name of the Unmaker is the Collective planning to do with that many protoforms?"

"I do not know."

"When was the order placed?" Optimus asked suddenly.

"As far as I could tell, the order was made the same joor as the attack, but before Megatron's planet-wide call-to-arms."

"You think the Collective did it on purpose?" Ultra Magnus asked, startled and feeling a little sick in his fuel tank.

"I don't know," Optimus replied, cycling his vents. "It looks like they may have."

"That settles it. I'm the one going," Grimlock declared.

"The Pit it does!" Ratchet shot back. Grimlock cuffed Ratchet.

"Think," Grimlock ordered, "I die, you keep the rest alive. And we need a strong mech to protect the Allspark."

"He's right, Ratchet. Your abilities are needed here and even if this plan does succeed, it's practically a suicide mission. Either they'll go through with the Allspark and the knowledge they can't be found or rescued any time soon or Megatron will act out his vengeance upon them," Optimus said gravely.

"You would entrust me with this task?" Grimlock requested.

"Yes. You and I have our differences, but I trust you to do what is right as long as your spark exists," Optimus said, EM smiling. Grimlock grinned at hearing his words quoted back at him before he snapped his battle mask in place and saluted. Optimus saluted back.

"And how close is the ship to being finished?" Prowl pointedly inquired.

"Who knows?" Ratchet replied even as Grimlock shrugged his EM.

"They have orders to report in regularly, but it seems our science team gets so caught up in their project that they forget to do so unless forcibly reminded," Ultra Magnus answered.

"Then I suppose we'll just to ask," Optimus said as he stood and started moving to where the scientists were working.

"I've been meaning to ask, but where are the sparklings?" Prowl asked.

"Grapple took them and a bunch of paint to the new bunker under the building he and his sparkling have been working on for us. He thought that it would keep them entertained and that the end result might raise morale," Optimus replied with a chuckle as they approached the modified planet-hopper. Starscream was holding up a part that would easily be out of reach of most mechs while Wheeljack dangled precariously from the top and welded it into place, audials flashing as he hummed tunelessly. Judging from his scowl, Starscream didn't appreciate the musical dis-accompaniment to their work. Perceptor was nowhere in sight, but there were noises emanating from inside the small ship.

"Ho there! You missed your check-in time, so we've come to see how you're doing," Magnus called.

"Oh, hello!" Wheeljack called. He waved, only to slide and stop to catch himself as the officers present looked on in alarm.

"Are you finished up there yet?" Starscream demanded to know.

"Actually, yes, I think so."

"Good," the seeker said, extending his arms to Wheeljack to help him lift him down. Once Wheeljack was safely on the ground, he turned to the officers and cheerfully informed them, "Once we finish wiring that part and Perceptor finishes inside, we'll be ready to go. Have you decided who's going with us?"

"Me and just me," Grimlock said. "We're not risking our science team on this suicide mission."

"Suicide mission or not, do you know how to pilot an interstellar vehicle? Or how to operate the space bridge at all, much less how to set it on random and prevent anyone from using it afterwards?" Wheeljack asked sharply. Grimlock shuffled his feet before comming :No.:

"And that's why Starscream and I are coming with you."

"He won't fit!" Grimlock protested, gesturing at the seeker and the ship.

"Idiot. I don't need to fit. I'm interstellar flight capable. The only reason we need this," Starscream said, slapping the modified planet-hopper with a bang, "is because I can't carry precious cargo that can't be subspaced. As is, I'll be acting as a decoy for you when the Decepticons follow us."

"And helping us get out of the atmosphere. We couldn't modify the front enough, so we'll need to follow behind Starscream in order to reduce wind-resistance if we want to break free of the atmosphere on the fuel we have," Wheeljack said. There was a bang right then and Perceptor appeared.

"I had just accomplished my assignment when you completed that weld-job so I finished the wires and supports for you, 'Jack. Oh… um, hello," Perceptor said, turning shy when he noticed the large group looking at him.

"Thank you, Percy. I believe that means we're ready to go," Wheeljack cheerfully announced.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Despite all the reassurances he'd made to the officers of the Autobot Army, despite or rather because of all the calculations he'd run, Wheeljack felt a shiver of fear run through him as they followed Starscream out of the atmosphere. Knowing the exact odds doesn't do much for one's confidence. The little ship they'd christened _Freedom_ was shaking violently and growing uncomfortably hot even with Starscream plowing a passage through the air for them. Then they were free and Wheeljack felt absolute relief as they sped away from Cybertron's gravity well. As the heat leeched out, Wheeljack clamped his armor close to his body in an attempt to keep his lines from growing too cold and freezing. Hopefully the heat from exiting would stay long enough to help. Grimlock cursing over the comm., the only mode of communication available without atmosphere to send the vibrations, made the engineer turn in alarm.

:Why am I floating? I thought ships had gravity built into them!: the large black bot growled over the comm. as he clung desperately to his chair.

:It would have taken too long to modify something for a ship this small,: Wheeljack explained, :although not thinking to put in some sort of restraints to help rectify that is my fault. Sorry. My bad.: Grimlock glared at Wheeljack, although why he should be upset about that, Wheeljack didn't know. Honestly, a little gravity deprivation never hurt any bot. Wheeljack was more worried about the way the temperature gauge was starting to fall. It was supposed to get a little cold in the ship, to help counter the fact that they wouldn't have any atmosphere for their fans to cool them down with, but the temperature gauge suggested they had a leak in their insulation somewhere. If they didn't do this fast, their fluids would start to freeze. Of course, he didn't tell Grimlock that. Bad enough he was upset about the lack of gravity.

:Space bridge dead ahead,: Starscream commed, :and since you two were busy fighting, I took the liberty of contacting the Decepticons and essentially going "Neener neener neener".:

:Very funny,: Grimlock growled even as Wheeljack laughed over the comm. :I hope you two scientists are prepared to fight, because we…:

You could tell exactly when Grimlock saw the space bridge, because he went utterly silent. Wheeljack didn't blame him. It was a miracle of modern Cybertronian science and engineering. On a huge asteroid based in an asteroid belt not too far from Cybertron and its moons, three spikes arched up gracefully and curved in towards each other like a strange metallic flower. Light flickered down the spikes' lengths as they supported a glowing blue ball of energy, not unlike a spark, floating in the center of the space the arches created. Two beeps on their hastily constructed radar followed by three more made Wheeljack turn from the sight and heave a silent curse into the non-existent atmosphere.

:We have incoming.:

:Seekers,: Starscream observed, :and they have that new Decepticon mark on their wings.:

:Bring them on,: Grimlock said, EM showing his eagerness for the fight.

:I've got them,: Starscream said, pulling away as he looped back. Wheeljack kept glancing at the radar, trying to keep track of what was happening as he flew the ship. Grimlock was practically vibrating. One of the five enemy seekers disappeared off the radar as Wheeljack looked. It was Grimlock's surprise that made Wheeljack glance up to see the seeker suddenly right in front of them.

:Did you see that? Fragger came from nowhere!: Grimlock said as Wheeljack started some evasive maneuvers, knowing their little slip-shod starship couldn't stand up to a military-armed seeker.

:He probably has quantum engines that allow him to warp short distances,: Wheeljack said absently as he brought up the ship's weapon system. He'd known what they might possibly be getting in to and the ship, while barely flight capable within a solar system because there was only so much that could be done with the time and supplies on hand, was nevertheless much better armed than it appeared.

:Here, try shooting them.:

Grimlock looked first at the targeting system, then Wheeljack in surprise before asking, :This ship has weapons?:

:Of course it does,: Wheeljack replied, EM showing his irritation where the comm. couldn't. :Now _shoot_ the fraggers.:

:Right.:

The first shots must have taken the seekers by surprise because they struck true, taking one out. This enraged the others, judging by the way they were now all hopping about and firing in earnest. Wheeljack made a rather difficult spin maneuver to avoid two of them, who collided as a result, even as Wheeljack wondered where the frag Starscream was. Grimlock cursed as the sudden centripetal force slammed him back in his seat.

:Where'd you learn to fly?:

:You're assuming I still have a permit. It was taken away because I was too dare-devilish for the Academy's taste. I managed to talk them out of doing the same for my driving permit.:

Grimlock was silent for a bit as he absorbed this, then asked, :So why did you work for the boring-aft Science Division of Iacon Academy, dare-devil?:

:Are you kidding?: Wheeljack replied, EM and audials flashing cheerfully. :They let me work with explosives! Hold on.:

Grimlock grinned as he managed to clip the wing of another seeker, forcing it to fall back. :You're alright.:

:Likewise.:

There was more cursing as another seeker got in front of them again, forcing Wheeljack to evade, which caused to Grimlock to miss his shot. Both cursed.

:I can't shake them.:

:And that warp thing is annoying,: Grimlock added. There was a pause.

:Think we should try our luck with the ship and the space bridge?: Wheeljack asked. :We could always go someplace else before setting it on random.: That's when Starscream appeared and shot the remaining two seekers with what looked like a ray gun of some sort.

:What are you two waiting for? Land already and get the space bridge going!:

:Where were you, you fragger?: Grimlock demanded to know.

:In case it escaped your notice, there's an entire flight of seekers and other flyers and what looks to be at least one warship heading our way, so I suggest you hurry. These were just the fastest of the group,: Starscream shot back. A very large beep from the radar made Wheeljack curse as it suddenly lit up a literal wave of incoming flyers.

:Slag. He's right.:

The landing was quick and rough and had Grimlock cursing out Wheeljack. The engineer ignored the larger mech as he exited the craft and took advantage of the low gravity of the large asteroid to perform a running jump to the control station just next to the space bridge. The station was manned by drones. None turned at Wheeljack's entrance. Curiosity was foreign to these sparkless machines; they were programmed to obey, not to think. Wheeljack pressed past them and got to work, humming tunelessly as he did. He spliced wires that shouldn't have been spliced and changed a few settings not meant to be changed before he pulled out a wrench and started cheerfully bashing the Pit out of the control panel. The space bridge was now pulsing with irregular flashes of electrical disturbance and the control panel couldn't keep track of the places being rapidly cycled through, names melding together on the display as it tried to keep up and failed. Then Wheeljack broke that too.

:Hurry up!: Starscream ordered over the comm.

:Coming," Wheeljack texted back, hurrying out, only to realize that the main problem with there being no sound in space was that you couldn't hear someone destroying your ship. Wheeljack was taken by surprise when Starscream grabbed him right outside the door and held the null ray to his head.

:Come out from behind that scrapheap, Grimlock, and give me the Allspark or your little scientist friend is dead,: Starscream addressed the battered ship, which no longer looked capable of flight thanks to some holes punched through it. Wheeljack grimaced. That was the trouble with no atmosphere fights; you couldn't hear what was going on out of sight.

:You don't want to shoot me, Starscream,: Wheeljack stated.

:Don't I? I think I do. I've already killed anyone else who knows Skyfire's dead and can recognize his call sig. Well, except for Perceptor, but accidents happen, as do war casualties which will take care of the rest of the Academy. It's not like they'll expect an attack, not without you there to warn them there's a spy in their midst. Don't be too upset. I'm willing to let you have the reputation of heroes, martyrs for your side's cause.: Wheeljack was about to tell Starscream he talked too much when Starscream added, :Ah, look who's awake.:

:Next time you shoot me with that null ray, make sure I'm not going to hit something. An asteroid dented my plating,: the blue one complained as he shot at Grimlock, forcing the black mech to dodge. The limited gravity was affecting Grimlock's movements. He went tumbling blindly through space a little over the ground, curled around the Allspark, albeit thankfully in the right direction as it got him much closer to the space bridge.

:Why?: Wheeljack asked.

:Did you really think I'd side against my trine? Besides, this will cement my position in Lord Megatron's ranks. Skywarp, you idiot! How many times must I tell you to use the comm. in space?: The last bit was aimed at the purple seeker, who'd warped to stand between Grimlock and the space bridge.

:I said I got the Allspark!: Skywarp said on the open line.

:Like frag you do,: Grimlock replied as he clung to the cube even as the large seeker tried taking it.

:Let go!: Skywarp ordered, shaking the cube. It would have been a humorous sight if the situation hadn't been so desperate. Grimlock was floating in space, fingers dug into the grooves as he tried to pull the Allspark away from Skywarp despite having absolutely no purchase on anything that would help him actually get it away while Skywarp tried shaking him off without even trying to touch the black mech.

:Oh, for Primus's sake,: Starscream said, :Thundercracker, go help him.: He probably shouldn't have said that over the open line, because Grimlock responded to the order by desperately transforming his damaged arm, shattering components as he did, and fired it at Thundercracker. He missed, but the silent recoil pushed him into Skywarp and pushed them both down. Seeing his chance, Grimlock shot at Skywarp's arm, forcing the mech to let go of the Allspark even as the recoil pushed him to practically between the wildly pulsing space bridge's tines. That's when Thundercracker shot Grimlock. This shot was true, striking Grimlock head-on, damaging his lower face and upper chassis. Still holding the Allspark, Grimlock was forced back even as his optics dimmed.

:Grimlock!: Wheeljack called over the comm. The space bridge suddenly flared, extending out to the reach of the tines, engulfing Grimlock and the Allspark. When the flare-up ended, both were gone.

:No! You idiots! You lost the Allspark!: Starscream railed at his trine even as Wheeljack winced.

:Goodbye, Grimlock,: he mourned. That flare-up wasn't a good sign, either. He'd put it into the programming to warn him when time was close to running out. Now was definitely the time to escape.

:You can find it again, can't you?: Thundercracker stated rather than asked.

:Of course I can! But that might take vorns! Lord Megatron won't be pleased. And what the frag is this?: Starscream asked as something suddenly brushed against his panel sensors.

:As I was saying earlier, you don't want to shoot me because that would compromise my subspace pockets, but since you plan on killing me anyway, I decided to compromise them a bit early,: Wheeljack replied, looking pleased at the mess that had been slowly floating out from him since Starscream grabbed him. Influenced by lack of inertia and low gravity, the chemicals were creating a sort of odd mist as they mixed, more solid components slowly floating to the ground amongst it.

:What were you carrying?: Starscream asked, faceplates and EM showing his worry. He'd worked with Wheeljack often enough to know the other's proclivity for explosives.

:Oh, various chemicals that shouldn't be mixed, a few prototype weapons including some weapons grade solar-nuclear devices, oh and some sodium and water to create a spark,: Wheeljack replied, EM grinning as he watched the water slowly float down towards the fragment of sodium.

:Solar grenades? You've been messing around with solar grenades?!: Starscream commed in a panic.

:Yep. And that space bridge isn't going to last much longer, either.:

:Flee! He's got this entire place ready to explode!: Starscream ordered his trine, whose faces had gone blank in fear.

Starscream let Wheeljack go and warped away before Wheeljack could grab him and force the traitorous seeker to warp with him. Wheeljack cursed and ran, taking a flying leap in Cybertron's direction and hoping the inertia would help as he transformed. He folded in on himself, making himself as small and solid as he possibly could while still retaining a degree of aerodynamics to his form. The chemicals went off first, the concussion helping to knock him away further faster. The chemicals quickly reached the solar grenades even as the space bridge rapidly flashed, discharging huge amounts of energy. The asteroid shattered as did the space bridge, the huge concussion from both the solar grenades and the power from the disrupted space bridge pushing him forward faster even as the edges engulfed him. Wheeljack wasn't really conscious when he hit Cybertron's atmosphere, but he managed to make a ping as he felt his protoform heating up rapidly. The part of him still awake absently hoped he survived the landing.


	3. Part 1: Chapter 3

**A/N:** Here it is, the last chapter of Part 1, or as I've been calling it in my head, the long-ass prologue. Yes, that's right, this has just been me setting stuff up. The next chapter is the start of Part 2 and the story proper and from there it'll be a bit more obvious how the summary and story are related. It's a long ride and if you're not in for the long-haul, then you're going to be missing quite a story. In other words, long story is long.

This took so long because my muses panicked at the thought of writing out the big battle scene, never mind that they're the ones that wrote me into having to do one in the first place and even had it all set up so it shouldn't have been a big deal. That being said, I'm still not quite happy with this chapter.

Also, many thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favs. They're appreciated.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

_Chapter 3_

"What. Happened?" Megatron asked lowly, his fingers denting the arms of the chair he sat in. He'd lost a good number of his flight capable mechs when the space bridge exploded and now, kneeling before him, were perhaps the only three who could explain why.

"We underestimated how… suicidal the Autobots were," Starscream said carefully, all too aware of how furious Megatron was because he wasn't even bothering to keep his EM in close.

"The one with the funny fins blew everything up without any way to get away," Skywarp quickly added.

"I killed the other one before his off-lined chassis got caught in the unstable space bridge. He won't cause any more problems. It was merely misfortune we were unable to get the Allspark away from him before then," Thundercracker finished.

"So not one of you is competent," Megatron said, "and apparently your scientist thought of a way to escape. I received a report that he sent a ping out before re-entering Cybertron's atmosphere. I have some of my other flyers going after him in order to clean up after you three." The trine before him winced.

"Tell me," Megatron continued, "why should I bother with you lot at all now that you've failed so thoroughly?"

"I know how to locate the Allspark!" Starscream said hastily. "If we keep an optic on deep-space inbound transmissions, I can tell you which it is! And we have greater interstellar capabilities than the Autobots. We can easily reach it first! Especially if we take out the Iacon Academy's receivers."

"Hmm. Very well. We can afford to wait to fetch the Allspark now that it's no longer in our enemy's hands. And I will allow you a second chance to prove your worth. In the meantime, we have a Prime to deal with and we know precisely where he is. It's time to annihilate our opposition."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Three seekers entered the atmosphere after the falling Autobot, engines giving them a speed boost that they hoped to take advantage of as the folded protoform before them reached terminal velocity. So focused were they upon their quarry that they didn't see what appeared to be the ground coming up at an odd angle until it neatly plucked the cherry-red hot protoform out of the air. Engines stalled and sputtered in surprise, making them easy targets for the second huge hand.

With the little irritants out of the way, Metroplex looked down at the protoform he held before angling some vents from his second arm at the still hot metal in order to help it cool down. A quick scan confirmed the protoform was badly damaged and it kept pinging him incoherently. The only thing Metroplex could understand out of the gabble was the word "Autobot".

"Where are the Autobots?" Metroplex asked, his murmur rumbling like thunder. There was a pause, then an unexpectedly succinct ping.

:Prime's Building, Iacon.:

Startled but not entirely surprised, Metroplex ambled carefully toward Iacon. He'd been trying to find out where the Autobots had gone underground at but had been frustrated by only rumors and so was glad to get something firm. There was just one problem, which became obvious as he came to a stop at the outskirts of Iacon.

"I cannot go any further. I am far too large and would cause much damage if I tried. However, if I cannot bring you to the Autobots, perhaps I can bring them to you." Metroplex held the protoform in a certain way as he started folding back into his usual configuration, that of a good-sized city. He'd wandered away recently, not impressed by his previous inhabitants fighting over what side, if any, they were on while he himself was firmly decided in his decision. Anyone starting a fight on Cybertron wasn't his friend and while he was all for hunkering down and waiting for peace, Metroplex had seen and heard too much in his walls to entirely trust the Collective's motives. As a result, he was relatively empty as only a handful had decided to join him and the Autobots, although there were three he would never leave without for they were literally part of him. As soon as they were able, Slammer, Scamper, and Six-Gun split off. Two went to help their guest, who was now ensconced in a room in one of the towers that had been Metroplex's arm, moving him down to the med bay while the third and fastest sped off towards Iacon to find the Autobots. Metroplex himself put in a polite request to his inhabitants to see if they could help their guest or some of his slower moving parts. Then Metroplex settled down to do what he did best: wait.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Out of all the things that had happened, Optimus thought it was the sense of betrayal that made him angriest. Optimus had trusted Megatron and having Megatron betray that trust hurt a lot. Conning trust through deception. Decepticons were a good name for the enemy. He tried keeping that to himself, however, because he didn't want this whole thing to come across as a personal vendetta. It was bad enough that it was shaping into a battle of the haves versus the have-nots, never mind the fact that the Collective was currently the only side to have anything. Optimus kept having to squash talk about "putting the Decepticons back into their places" because that wouldn't solve anything. In fact, Optimus hoped to use the war to change a few things about the current power structure. Megatron had been right about those lower on the social ladder deserving more than they got; Optimus just wished Megatron hadn't used that fact to help bolster his army's size and position. As it was, the Autobots were getting painted as the bad guys in the ever increasing amount of Decepticon propaganda, making it harder to gain troops and supplies.

The lack of resources was hitting hard, so Optimus was very thankful for the small science team, a fact he had to keep reminding himself of. As Grimlock, Wheeljack, and Starscream left the atmosphere and out of the range of their short-range communication array, Perceptor had started muttering about how if he wired that piece of equipment to this one and did this to that, he could possibly give the array a boost and probably would have kept mumbling if Optimus hadn't gotten tired of it and finally ordered him to do it already. He wasn't certain that had been a wise move as it meant the array turned on and off as Perceptor worked on it. Ideally, it should have been turned off, because Optimus and several other onlookers kept wincing whenever Perceptor narrowly avoided electrocution, but they needed to try and monitor for their three who were off-world.

The explosion, when it came, took them by surprise.

:Primus. You'd better take a look at this,: one of the femmes stationed on the roof commed.

:What is it?: Elita-1 asked over the open frequency as everyone nearby eavesdropped in.

:It looks like part of the sky is on fire! What did they do? Blow up a small moon?: Flareup replied.

"Perceptor, do you have that array working yet?" Prowl demanded to know.

"Almost. Once I've got this power coupling connected and altered a few settings for maximum efficiency…"

"Perceptor!"

"Yes, yes, I'm finished."

:Away team consisting of Grimlock, Wheeljack, and Starscream, please come in. This is Home Base. Away Team, please come in,: Prowl sent over the array. He frowned when there was no answer, then turned and pierced Perceptor with a look.

"I thought you said you were boosting the array," Prowl said.

"I did, but there's only so much it can be enhanced without constructing a superior receiving dish, which is feasible but not without a considerably larger allowance of time than you've been giving me," Perceptor replied.

"In other words, this is the best that can be done for now," Ultra Magnus translated.

"Precisely," Perceptor agreed.

The next few breems were tense as they sent out a comm., waited in vain for an answer, and sent out again. There was a sense of relaxed relief and good cheer when the pings started, at least until they realized what they were saying. The first ping basically translated as "Autobot Wheeljack incoming," followed a few breems later by it repeating and adding "Starscream traitor" and "Autobot Grimlock dead". "Allspark safe" seemed almost like an afterthought, which it might very well have been. It was when their location was pinged that everyone became stiff and silent.

"What the slag is that insane fragger doing, broadcasting that information?" Ratchet pondered aloud.

"Grapple, is your bunker ready?" Optimus Prime asked instead of answering Ratchet.

"As ready as it's going to be."

"And it will survive an attack?"

"Sir, it can survive a direct hit from a solar-nuclear device. Much more likely, this building will collapse on top of it long before then. It'd survive that too, but anyone inside would be stuck there until we could dig them out."

"We've already moved the energon and most of our irreplaceable supplies, like the med equipment, down there, sir," Prowl added.

"Understood. I want anyone who has not been trained on how to handle a weapon to gather the sparklings and any remaining equipment that is easily moved and head for the bunker. You are to seal yourselves in but keep your comm. lines open. Anyone who has received enough training to know how to handle a weapon is to arm themselves and take battle stations like we've been practicing. Again, keep your comm. lines open on the agreed frequencies. Prowl, see if you can't use the emergency broadcast system to try and warn the city," Optimus ordered before adding, "May Primus protect us."

The next fifteen breems were pure chaos as mechs ran to and fro. A minor fight broke out when two different bots tried taking the same battle station until Ultra Magnus forcibly separated and relocated them. In the end, they had fewer weapons than mechs willing to use them and they ended up having to unseal the bunker to let those last few left unarmed in. Then everyone fell into a high-strung silence as they were forced to wait.

"Sir?" a mech called from his station, prompting Optimus Prime to come over. "I've got massive incoming in the form of various flyers, and whatever the frag that big thing is."

Optimus scowled at the distant growing darkness that was taking the shape of flight-capable mechs to his enhanced vision even as the clouds boiled behind them, the front of something very large poking through as its tail created its own weather system.

"Frag! Tha's a warship! And not just any slagging warship, either!" Ironhide, who had self-appointed himself as Optimus Prime's protector despite the existence of Elita-1 and Aeterna, cursed, "We're all barely equipped to take on a decent force a ground troops. We don't have nearly enough firepower to take on tha _Nemesis_!"

"Do we have anything that can even remotely harm it?" Optimus Prime asked. Ironhide was shaking his head.

"There used ta be anti-aircraft weaponry strewn all 'bout the place, but they all took it down when we finally fragged the Quintessons in tha war."

"Unfortunately, I believe he's correct, sir," Prowl stated. "Most of the buildings were rebuilt after the last Quintesson War without the feel for a need for military applications. The few buildings that did survive have mounts for the weapons, but not the weapons themselves. We could use the mounts for new weapons, but that is assuming we survive the current assault, which is looking increasingly unlikely."

Primus, Optimus decided, had a sense of humor and an impeccable sense of timing, because that's when Scamper started hailing them on all open radio frequencies outside the building, trying to be let inside. Once he was brought before Optimus, Scamper rather dramatically went down on one knee and proclaimed, "I've come on the behalf on my partners and the mechs that traveled with us. We've come to pledge ourselves to you, Prime, and to the Autobot cause."

"Please rise. And we are grateful for any assistance we can get. How many are you?"

"Three thousand. A pitiful number, I know, but the best we found on short notice," Scamper replied. A few looks were exchanged. Three thousand was twenty times what was currently in the building, including the non-fighters.

"Got any weapons?" Ironhide asked bluntly, frowning thoughtfully at the black mech.

"A good number. Enough to arm ourselves and leave a few left over. We also have some anti-aircraft artillery, which it looks like we're going to need."

"How many of those do you have?" Prowl asked suddenly.

"Eight. Fourteen if you count Six-Gun, but I think we'd prefer if he stayed where he was," Scamper replied.

"I knew I recognized you!" Ironhide suddenly crowed.

"It's been a long time since you've lived with us, Ironhide," Scamper agreed, "We wouldn't mind if you did so again. You were always pretty fun." Ironhide, with a wild grin and elated EM, nodded and turned to the others.

"We might jus' make it through this! Scamper's a part o' Metroplex! Ol' Metro's a city-bot and one tha' was designed to survive an assault like this!"

The wave of hope was a tangible thing. A city-sized mech housing a small army was on their side? It was more than they'd ever hoped for.

"Where are those weapon mounts?" Optimus Prime suddenly asked. Prowl pulled up a holographic image of the city and marked the locations before highlighting eight of them.

"While there aren't as many as I'd like, we could protect a large portion of the city with these eight. It is the Iacon Academy that is the weakest location. All the rebuilding and new buildings they've put up over the past five hundred vorns weren't designed for warfare and there's no mounts close enough to properly defend them. But this is all theoretical. We don't actually have the weapons yet."

"Then we'd better go get them. I want eight teams capable of carrying a large weapon as fast as possible to form up. We have a way to save the city. Autobots, let's roll!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

The first shots were being fired even as the small group arrived at Metroplex. Ratchet did his best to ignore the ground shaking in the wake of the more explosive rounds and kept his sensors on Prime's aft as they drove inside the city-bot. There'd been a minor row when he'd insisted on coming, because he'd refused any weapons, much less how to learn to use them, but he'd managed to convince them of the importance of having a medic with them, especially if Wheeljack was as badly damaged as Scamper claimed. Once inside the massive entryway, Ratchet was surprised to see several larger mechs being loaded with what looked to be a large gun apiece even as a few more lay nearby.

"I sent the orders you gave to Metroplex. I hope that's alright," Scamper said, giving Prime a nervous look.

"That's fine," Prime assured him before calmly stating, "It doesn't appear you'll need me to move one after all."

"I should hope not," Ratchet told him rather archly. Prime chuckled.

"Come on, sir. I'll lead you to the med bay before I dock," Scamper told Ratchet. Ratchet followed, wondering about what Scamper meant about docking until he saw one mech transform into six large guns that quickly locked into place before returning fire. Ah, so that's what Ironhide had meant when he said these mechs were part of Metroplex.

"Please keep moving. We're out in the open here and I need to dock soon if we don't want to just be sitting here when they bring out the big guns," Scamper said, prodding Ratchet forward. Once they were outside a room bearing the medic symbol, Scamper hurried off and Ratchet stepped inside.

The med bay was smaller than he was used to, but much better than the cramped quarters he'd been making do with in the Prime's building. For one thing, there were actual medical berths complete with equipment setups. A badly damaged protoform that Ratchet realized had to be Wheeljack was laid out on one of the berths and was being nervously tended to by two mechs. Actually, only one mech as Ratchet got close enough to realize one had the placid, practically nonexistent EM of a drone. The non-drone, who had a build fairly similar to Prowl's, saw him finally and relaxed, apparently relieved to see someone wearing medic symbols.

"Oh, thank Primus, an actual medic. I've managed to unfold him from that rather cramped position he'd managed to get himself stuck in and seal his broken lines, but most of his damage is well beyond the basics I know. Most of my medical training is in the psyche, not the chassis, and I haven't finished that yet."

"How old are you?" Ratchet asked as he quickly moved to clean his hands. It would be nice to have a fully-trained psychiatrist again.

"Eighteen, nearly nineteen vorns, sir. And here's what I've done so far."

Ratchet paused momentarily at that as he headed for the berth. A mech wasn't even legal before his twentieth vorn. According to the file he received, however, the youngling's medical knowledge, such as it was, was sound. He'd done everything right. So had Wheeljack, apparently. He'd been curled around his vitals so that the worst damage was to his extremities. Ratchet got to work, but kept up a conversation as he did, wanting to calm the nervous mech.

"You did fine," he assured the youngling. "Your mentor would be proud."

The way the youngling's EM twisted showed how much he doubted that.

"Where is your mentor, youngling?"

"My designation's Smokescreen. And he's not here. He thought this whole going to war thing was stupid and declared himself to be a Neutral along with everyone else who doesn't want to be on the Collective's bad side. I didn't agree and stowed away in Met when he got up and left. Well, as much as you can stow away in a living city who knows you're there," the youngling said, showing a very good grasp of the situation.

"So we're adding kidnapping to our bad reputation now?" Ratchet asked with a frown as observed that while most of Wheeljack's armor was gone, leaving the protoform bare and exposed, there was no sign of trauma from the separation, which suggested the idiot had shed his armor on purpose.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. He disowned me when I insisted on joining you," Smokescreen said, wing-like sensors drooping and EM going cold-blue with dejection.

"Well, I could certainly use a psych-trained bot on my team. The designation's Ratchet, by the way. In the meantime, if you know a wrench from a welding iron, you can help me out by cleaning the tools and handing me what I need when I request them."

"Yes, sir! That's one of the first things I learned," Smokescreen agreed, brightening up.

"Well, let's get you fixed up," Ratchet told Wheeljack's battered protoform, patting an area that looked less damaged than the rest.

:Query?:

Ratchet startled badly when Wheeljack pinged him.

"He's still aware? He should be in stasis-lock, if not because of his injuries, then because you put him under!" Ratchet roared. Smokescreen flinched.

"I'm sorry, but I already told you I don't have much knowledge about the chassis and his medical port's damaged, so I don't know how I could put him under!" the youngling replied defensively. Ratchet, who'd unsubspaced a data pad with anesthetic codes on it, paused as he saw Smokescreen was right about the medical port even as Smokescreen told him about it.

"Frag it!" he cursed before facing Smokescreen. "Sorry about that. You're right, but could you em_please_/em tell me em_all_/em you know before I'm tempted to kick you out of my med bay for apparent incompetence?" Smokescreen's EM flashed through several emotions, including surprise and anger, before it settled on sheepish.

"I thought I'd included everything in the download I gave you," he admitted as he sent a second one, this one outlining everything he knew about the engineer's condition.

Ratchet paused as he realized most the file was Wheeljack's psychological profile with bits and pieces of physical mixed in. Ratchet made a mental note to teach anyone stuck performing first aid – which was going to be everyone he could get his hands on – how to properly fill out a medical report so he didn't have to waste time sifting for the information he needed. Then he fashioned a series of pings that basically translated into, "Location: med bay. Medical port: damaged. Interfacing port: necessary alternative. Comprehension?" He sent them to Wheeljack.

:Comprehension,: Wheeljack pinged back.

"Now to get started," Ratchet muttered as he removed Wheeljack's interfacing panel, one of the few intact pieces of armor still covering the engineer's protoform.

"What are you doing?" Smokescreen asked.

"Mech's got more than one port and he's given permission to use it," Ratchet replied as he magnetized the plug for the data pad holding the anesthetic codes and carefully pushed it in. It wasn't the first time he'd used an interfacing port out of medical necessity and he kept his movements, tone, and expression strictly professional. Privately he hated using it, more for the fact that the valve's length and sensitivity made it difficult to use medically than from any social taboos. As soon as the data pad plugged in, Ratchet quickly and efficiently used the port to anesthetize the engineer. There was a subtle relaxing of the protoform as the codes took hold. Ratchet set them to run for a certain amount of time – if it wasn't long enough to finish with Wheeljack, it should still be long enough to fix the medical port – and then disengaged the data pad and its cord before getting to work. He frowned slightly as the lights flickered but then they steadied and he thought nothing more about it.

A steady rumble could be felt more than heard under Ratchet snapping orders for tools and the sounds of the tools themselves, all part of the general noise of a med bay during an operation. Then the room shuddered and jumped. Ratchet cursed.

"Met must've taken quite a hit to stumble like that," Smokescreen said worriedly.

"Stumble? We're moving?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know? That's what the warning flicker of the lights was for."

"I… expected to feel more movement."

"We're by Met's center of gravity and the med bay rooms were designed not to be affected by the transformation," Smokescreen replied, EM shrugging. "We can't leave until he transforms back, but we're pretty secure here."

"Hmm. Alright, come on. We've got a mech to fix."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

The return shots were unexpected and prompted Megatron to shoot Starscream a sharp look.

"I thought you said they didn't have any anti-aircraft weaponry," he rumbled dangerously.

"They didn't!" Starscream replied, scanning the city for the source of the shots. What he saw made his spark sink. "Lord Megatron!"

"Cease your infernal yapping, you useless fool!" Megatron ordered, "The rest of you, return fire!"

"But Lord Megatron, that wasn't there earlier!"

"The guns? I bet they just didn't show them to ya," another Decepticon chuckled.

"Not the guns! That section of _the city_ wasn't there earlier!"

"WHAT?" Megatron roared. Then the area of the city Starscream had pointed out transformed and started firing at them in earnest. This doesn't seem like a big deal until you realized the city-bot's head was the same size as the _Nemesis_ and the weapons said bot was using was causing a lot of damage to the wave of flyers.

"Evasive maneuvers! Do we have any explosives on board?"

"Yes sir!"

"Then use them! You! You can fly! Get out there!"

The last bit was aimed at Starscream, who fled but as he was leaving he had an idea of how to turn this into his favor.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Brawn cursed and clung to his end of the artillery weapon as the ground trembled. He felt rather than saw his partner drop the other end and his EM flinched, halfway expecting the weapon to go off. When the safeties held and nothing happened, he huffed. "Big bots just don't have a proper center of gravity," he muttered quietly before he said much louder, "You better not have damaged it, Hoist. We don't have many of these and we need all we've got."

"Sorry, but being in a war zone isn't exactly doing anything for my balance," Hoist replied as he picked up his end.

"This is just the edge of the war zone," Trailbreaker said, transforming to his bipedal mode now that they had the gun out of him. "They were toying with us until Metroplex started to return fire. Now they're focusing on him."

"Heh, yeah. Sure took them by surprise when a good portion of the city stood up and starting shooting back!"

"Yeah. Now let's get the rest of the city shooting at them. Come on," Trailbreaker said as he all but hefted the gun up by himself for a moment before Brawn moved to help and they carried it into the old building that still had its weapon mount. Once they got to the top, Brawn eyed the ancient weapon mount dubiously.

"Is that thing even going to work?" he wondered out loud.

"That's why I'm here, despite this team already having size and sheer strength. I'll make sure it works," Hoist bragged as he got to work. Obeying the orders Hoist threw their way, the rather shaky metal structure firmed up and soon had the anti-aircraft artillery weapon held securely.

"So, do you want to fire it?" Trailerbreaker asked Hoist.

"Oh, no! Be my guest!" Hoist replied.

"I'll fire it," Brawn said as he took charge of the weapon. It would have looked ridiculous having the small mech using the huge weapon if Brawn hadn't quickly proven to be a pretty good shot. The flyers surrounding Metroplex were breaking formation as their numbers started to be picked off by the newly set up city defenses. Then something happened and several sets of flyers peeled off. They realized what was happening a little late when the crack-boom of one of their fellow defenders had the top of their building blown off, weapon, mechs, and all.

"Stop firing!" Trailbreaker ordered.

"What? And leave us as sitting turborats? Frag that!" Brawn replied.

"I can't put up my force field if you keep firing!"

"Force field?" Hoist asked startled even as Brawn let go of the weapon in favor of giving Trailbreaker a sharp look. Trailbreaker threw up his force field at its maximum reach, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep it up for very long at all but also knowing he had to protect the anti-aircraft weapon as well as his fellows if they were going to survive this. He was just in time, too. The force of the assault made the building shudder under them, but Trailbreaker's force field held.

"Shoot them when I saw 'Now'. Now!"

Brawn quickly obeyed, taking one seeker out and clipping another badly enough that it was forced to swerve off.

"Stop!" Trailbreaker ordered before quickly throwing up his force field to defend them from the attack of the third seeker. To their surprise, instead of aiming at them, the seeker aimed an explosive charge at the building under them. The shaking was horrible, sending the Autobots tumbling, and the building felt like it was swaying even after the shockwave died out. Hoist cursed.

"I'm going to try and reinforce the building, but I can tell you now it won't take another hit like that," Hoist told them before he ran for the ramps leading down.

"You heard him. We need to make this next shot count," Brawn said as he took the weapon again. Even as he spoke, it felt like the building's swaying was slowing.

"Got it. Ready?" Trailbreaker asked even as he felt his energy reserves starting to drop to dangerous levels.

"Oh, yeah," Brawn replied, aiming at the seeker who'd looped around for another pass.

"Then fire!" Trailbreaker yelled as he dropped the force field. The shot was true. The seeker passed overhead, leaking smoke and important fluids, before it crashed into another building further on.

"Any more?" Brawn asked. Trailbreaker looked around, but it appeared that the other defense positions to have survived this long had also managed to take out their attackers. That left the two wings of seekers heading toward the Academy, and they were the closest defense position.

"Can you hit any of those?" Trailbreaker asked, pointing. Brawn tried a few shots, but then he gave up with a curse.

"No luck. The Tower is separating us from the Academy and I can't aim properly enough with this thing to try any longer."

"Help me get this underneath," Trailbreaker ordered suddenly as he moved to remove the weapon from its mount.

"What?"

"Just do it. Something bad is about to happen and I don't have enough energy left to pull up a big force field, so we'll need the building to help shelter us."

"Not sure I believe you, but sure." Together, they got the weapon down and into the building proper.

"Hoist! Where's the best place in this building to survive an explosion coming from that direction?" Trailbreaker asked, letting go of the weapon with one hand long enough to point, much to Brawn's displeasure as more weight shifted onto him. The architect paused mid-repair and then turned.

"This way." They'd barely gotten the gun situated in the small, reinforced crevice when the explosion happened. The feel of it came first, followed by the sound. Trailbreaker pushed Hoist and Brawn down and pulled the force field tight around them just before the heat and light hit. Then the building collapsed around them.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

The flyers were moving in random patterns. Orders were to take out the city-bot but none of them were equipped to take on a mech that size – the only reason they'd lasted this long was because they were fast and small enough in comparison that it was difficult for the city-bot to hit the thinning ranks with any precision – and now eight other positions were firing on them, leaving confusion and off-lined bodies in their wake. It was the perfect time for someone to assert themselves and take charge and so Starscream did. Sending instructions to eight known trines had them peeling off to work on taking out the anti-aircraft artillery in the city. Further orders stopped the others from attacking randomly.

:Aim for his right knee!: Starscream ordered. The combined maneuver made the city-bot stumble, but Metroplex was quick to recover and retaliate. Starscream cursed to himself. The Decepticons hadn't planned on facing such a threat and were ill prepare to do so. The only hope they had for taking the city-bot out was to wear him down but the Decepticons were losing mechs too fast for that to be a viable option. Without a Decepticon large enough to truly take on the city-bot, it was looking to be an Autobot victory. Starscream would be damned to the Pit if he let them claim a victory without at least making it bittersweet.

:You lot, follow me! We're going to hit the Autobots where it hurts,: Starscream ordered over a seeker-style encryption in hopes Megatron wouldn't understand it and stop them. Letting the Lord High Protector know who was controlling the flyers couldn't hurt, but having the same individual know Starscream was disobeying orders was something else. Two wings of seekers followed Starscream away from the assault.

:What are we doing?: one asked, EM wide in order to effectively express his disgruntlement.

:Taking out the Iacon Academy.:

:What? Why?: a second seeker asked.

:Think about it,: Starscream replied, :None of these fools are going to follow Megatron after this attack and we can't afford to leave the Autobots teams of security-trained bots and inventors working on weapons!: That, and he couldn't afford for the deep-space receivers to remain up if he wanted to find the Allspark first, although Starscream wasn't about to admit that.

:There's energon stores here, here, and here. Explosive chemicals are kept there, reactive ones there, and the Security-training division's weapon's cache is there. Take your shot, make it accurate, and then leave because the explosion is going to be impressive.:

:And you?:

:I have my own targets,: Starscream replied. The deep-space receivers had their own energon supply which should be enough to destroy them if he used an explosive charge. The only problem would be if they were rebuilt and to prevent that, he had to get rid of anyone with the credits, power, and influence to bring in someone outside of Iacon. Luckily for him, they all lived in the Tower right near the Academy. Starscream readied and aimed two rockets at the impressively high building before turning and taking his shot at the deep-space receivers' energon reserves before he transformed back into his alt and fled as fast as possible.

The rockets badly weakened the Tower, but it probably would have remained standing if it hadn't then gotten hit with the brunt of the blast caused by pretty much everything explosive in the Academy going off at once. The things missed by the initial assault exploded as the heat hit them, causing a series of ripples in the outward blast. Exploding energon could cause a huge amount of damage by itself, but add in lots of explosive chemicals, reactive chemicals reacting to each other, and a weapons cache that included some thermal and solar nuclear devices and the result would be incredible to behold if it weren't for all the damage and loss of life it signified. The combatants in the main battle paused in surprise, shock, and not a little horror as they saw good-sized portion of the city disappear. The Tower was practically disintegrated, so close it was to the blast. Metroplex, who had been designed to take direct hits, stumbled back a few steps as quite a few Decepticons were taken out in the shockwave's passing. Metroplex let out a roar of horrified anger and aimed at the biggest enemy there, the _Nemesis_. This move greatly concerned those onboard the warship.

"Sir! Our shields are at less than thirty percent and dropping! And that blast from the city-center did nothing to help them!"

Megatron scowled before ordering, "Get us out of here. I won't have them win by sheer luck! Find out who caused that explosion. Also, open up recruitment. We need a mech capable of taking on a city."

"Yes, sir!"

It took several long breems and a seared side, but the _Nemesis_ and it's accompanying flyers were soon in retreat. The Autobots had technically won, but at a very high cost.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"Damage?"

"It's bad, sir," Prowl replied, although the only sadness he showed was the slightest down-ward angle of his sensor panels. "The Iacon Academy is utterly gone and so is quite a lot of the residential section surrounding it, including the Tower. Not everyone heeded the evacuation warning I sent out, either, so we're looking at ten thousand dead minimum."

Optimus Prime's EM flinched slightly at the number before he cycled his vents and asked, "Any good news?"

"Aside from successfully turning back Megatron and his mechs? The mechs in the defensive position closest to the Academy blast seem to have survived. They were in the Tower's lee, which helped, and one is a former miner and has a force field mod that saved them when the building collapsed. All three are fine, if currently trapped in a space in the rubble. They also say their anti-aircraft weapon survived as well. We've been digging them out ever since we got their comm. for help. And the Prime Building is still standing, albeit mildly damaged from the explosion. We're clearing rubble there as well so we can get everything and everyone in the bunker out and into Metroplex."

"They didn't target the building," Optimus Prime muttered out loud, prompting Prowl to look up at him.

"Sir?"

"Wheeljack's awake and Ratchet gave him a break from repairs long enough to report in. Starscream did indeed betray us. We lost Grimlock, but they lost the Allspark and apparently quite a few mechs when the space bridge went, which reminds me, ask Wheeljack about weaponry once he's out of Ratchet's care. Anyway, my point is, Starscream _knew_ we were in the Prime's Building and we couldn't have had enough time to fully quit it for Metroplex, considering he showed up after Starscream left. Yet they didn't aim for it at all. The only damage it sustained was the result of them aiming at the Academy."

"It is a conundrum. Perhaps Wheeljack would know."

:Wheeljack?:

:Yes, sir, Optimus Prime sir?:

:You don't have to say 'sir' that often,: Optimus Prime said, EM coloring in amusement.

:We were wondering if you would know why the Decepticons would attack the Academy,: Prowl quickly interjected.

:… if Starscream were behind it, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was, then it would be to save his own aft. He messed up losing the Allspark, but he's probably the only Decepticon capable of recognizing Skyfire's call sig. He tried off-lining me because I knew it and he mentioned making a try at Percy and the Academy, because they'd be able to recognize it as well. With the Academy gone, not only are Percy and I the only ones you have who'd recognize the call sig we gave the Allspark, but we no longer have any sort of access to the Academy's deep-space receivers, which would have increased our chances of finding it first.:

:How about building new deep-space receivers?: Optimus Prime asked.

:I'd love to, but that would take a lot more resources than we currently have.:

:You are aware that our status on resources has changed, correct?: Prowl inquired.

:Oh, I know. It's kind of hard not to, considering the much nicer med bay. That doesn't change the fact that it took the Academy thirty mechs working full-time for one hundred orns and a Pit-load of credits to build that deep-space array. With just me and Percy? It'd take a lot longer, especially since I doubt you're going to let us work on it full time considering we're pretty much it for your science team.:

:You're not working on anything until after I've got your idiot-aft fixed,: Ratchet suddenly added before telling Prowl and the Prime, :You've had your say. Anything else can wait. Now get lost and quit bothering my patient!: He then added a briefly painful burst of static before shutting off both his and Wheeljack's end of the line.

"He's right, sir. You've already asked me to have Wheeljack look into weaponry," Prowl said aloud, although he still had a hand to his comm. and a slight grimace on his face from the painful feedback.

"Then we'll have to do what we can when we can," Optimus Prime replied.

"It might helpful to have someone keeping track of the Decepticons and anything they find as well."

"Agreed. See to it."

"Yes, sir."

Prowl moved to leave, although he paused for a moment and glanced back at his commander. Optimus Prime was framed by one of Metroplex's larger windows, watching as they turned imitation sun-lights off around Iacon in order to save the energon they consumed. It was quite the sight, seeing the large, noble frame glowing in the dying lights as they turned the world red for several long breems before turning off completely. Then the only light that was left outside were the stars, none of them close enough for their moons to reflect back. It seemed like a shiver ran through the world just then, but Prowl pushed it aside as a momentary flight of fantasy. He had work to do. The war was just beginning.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

End Part 1


	4. Part 2: Chapter 1

**A/N:** You know how I mentioned last chapter that my muses refused to work on the end of that chapter. Well, they continued to refused to work on it unless I also let them work on the next chapter aka this chapter, so you lucky folks get two chapters at once. Don't expect it to happen again. Also, all of the cities named (yes, even the punny Angmor Park) are canonical except for Iosis, and I don't own that either because I got it from Ford's Iosis Max. I thought it was amusing that a car would have a good name for a Cybertronian city.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

_**Part 2: The Ghost of the Autobot Army**_

_Chapter 1_

Vorns passed as the war continued. Battles were fought, territory was claimed and marked by Decepticons, Autobots, and the Collective-allied now known as Neutrals, and mechs died with none sparked to replace them. Things changed as the war continued. As the Decepticons kept carving out more territory for themselves from land already claimed, the Collective changed and relaxed certain rules. Now Neutrals carried weapons in an effort to protect their own homes. Optimus Prime tried contacting the Collective several times in an effort to create a treaty between them and the Autobots because working together they could change the tide of the war, but remaining separate from both the Decepticons and the Autobots was the one thing the Collective remained adamant about. Individually, the Decepticons outnumbered them both and it was taking its toll, as were the repeated skirmishes between angry and frightened Neutrals and Autobot troops who just wanted to help. They were all dying and their world was dying with them. Yet, during this chaotic time, a strange thing started happening that gave the Autobots hope.

Brawn grimly flipped over another comparatively large body, trying to find any visible faction symbol on the mutilated corpse. What faction they'd belong to would influence how they took care of the remains. Autobot remains would be taken with them, Neutral remains sent to the nearest Neutral outpost in hopes of increasing good faith, and, depending on whose territory it was, Decepticon remains – once any usable information was downloaded – were either used as spare parts or were booby trapped for when their faction ran across them. Of course, the 'Cons knew that and had started setting up some nasty and fast-acting virus codes to download into their systems if they took a fatal hit. They'd lost a few bots, especially medics, that way and the Autobots had recently stopped bothering downloading info from the 'Cons. Well, most had but some, despite orders, believed it was worth potentially killing themselves to get information on where the Decepticons would strike next. Brawn wasn't one of them.

Brawn cursed when he saw the ragged remains of the red symbol of Primus that represented the Autobot forces now.

:Got another one,: he sent over the heavily encrypted comm. line. There was a soft curse nearby.

:That's the last of the troops stationed here, then. The other two are over here. Ratchet's not going to be happy, either. One of 'em is Socket.:

Brawn grimaced. The CMO had become rather protective of bots he'd trained in medicine before the war when it had become clear that Megatron and the Decepticons were aiming for the Autobot's medics. A good medic could practically bring the dead back to life, after all, and the Autobots had more medics than any other faction. After nearly being off-lined himself in a sneak attack, even Ratchet had agreed to going around armed, something he'd refused to do for vorns. It would probably be a good idea to avoid the brilliant if temperamental – and now armed – medic while he grieved.

:They're all dead, then?: Brawn asked.

:Yeah.:

:Fraggin' 'Cons.:

:I'm giving the order to kill their codes now,: Prowl informed the troops listening.

:Acknowledged,: Brawn sent back, nodding even though no one could see it.

Each troop had their own private encryptions, which were changed frequently. The idea was if one troop was compromised, the whole army wouldn't be. Killing a code meant that a troop's codes and encryption currently in operation were banned from ever being used again. This was done any time they lost most or all of a troop (thankfully not as often as before) because it was impossible to tell if the codes had been compromised. If they had been compromised before the troop died, it could very well be why the troop was dead. It was also possible to download codes from a dying mech, so they didn't use them in case of compromising a future troop. Either way, better safe than sorry.

:Codes killed.:

_One joor later and one thousand megakliks away…_

Sentinel Minor found himself glaring at their comm. array.

"You're certain the incoming code was killed?" he asked the mech seated at the comm. station.

"A little over a joor ago by Lieutenant Prowl himself, Sentinel sir," the poor comm. officer stated miserably.

"Very well, Tweeter, was it?"

"Woofer, sir."

"Let it through. Let's see what the 'Cons have to say."

"Yes sir. Line open." If he had thought Sentinel was going to play along in order to draw out the Decepticon, the comm. officer was sadly mistaken.

"Hello, Decepticon scum. You're on an illegal frequency. What do you say to that?"

There was a long pause and then, instead of a sound, a text message came through on the screen a face would normally appear on.

:The Decepticons are sending 10,000 mechs against the neutrally-aligned city of Angmor Park. You will need to counter the attack.:

"The slaggerd must not have heard me. Text them what I said earlier, Sergeant," Sentinel huffed.

"Uh, Sentinel, sir?" Woofer whispered, pointing at the screen that was updating without the comm. officer touching anything.

:I can hear you just fine, Sentinel Minor. You will send troops to Angmor Park or there will be a massacre.:

"Now listen here! Who do you think you are, ordering me about like that? Huh?"

"Sir, he's gone."

"Well, trace where it came from!"

"Already did, sir, but it kept claiming to be a hardline connection in this building, sir. Specifically this room." There was silence for a long breem as Sentinel observed that there was nothing hardlined into the comm. array and station.

Finally, Sentinel said, "Let's get orders sent out. We're not entering Neutral territory before the 'Cons do, but I want as many troops on standby nearby as possible. You know, just in case."

"Yes sir."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"A dead encryption code?" Aeterna asked, frowning.

"Yes sir. If I may, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"I've seen this encryption before, after it was killed. The advice the user gave was sound."

Aeterna looked the small brown bot over.

"You're the recent transfer from Sentinel Minor, right? Woofer?"

"Yes, sir. And I know it sounds crazy, but the advice, in fact, is what led to Sentinel Minor to move his troops and thus become the hero of Angmor Park this past vorn."

"Why am I not surprised?" Aeterna asked dryly before straightening. "Trace the incoming and let it through."

"Yes sir."

"This is Lieutenant Aeterna of the Autobot forces, second to Elita-1. State your designation and the reason for using a forbidden channel."

:Your query is unimportant, Lieutenant. Tomorrow at 2.47 cycles past mid-cycle, an assassin will attempt to kill Ultra Magnus as he gives a speech in Praxis.:

"That's some rather specific information. And why are you telling me this? I'm nowhere near Praxis," Aeterna pointed out with a hiss of zir vents.

:Unable to reach anyone closer. Relay the information.:

"Fine. Now will you tell me who you are? Hello?"

"It's cut off, sir."

"Huh. Annoying glitch, but you say its info is good?"

"Yes sir."

"And the trace?"

"Says it originated here, sir."

"Slaggit. Alright, get me Magnus on the line."

"Yes sir."

"Don't you have a wider vocabulary than that?"

"Ha! Yes sir. Just doesn't seem the time to use it," Woofer agreed just before Ultra Magnus appeared on screen.

"Aeterna. This is a pleasant surprise," Ultra Magnus said.

"I heard you're giving a speech in Praxis tomorrow."

"Yes, well, the city council insisted," Ultra Magnus replied, expressing the discomfort of someone who abhors public speaking but often gets roped into it anyway because they manage to do it well. "Decided to wish me luck?"

"Your speech will be great, Magnus; they always are. I'm more concerned about security."

"We've cleared the Decepticons from this area, Aeterna, and Praxis is now firmly on our side. Nothing will happen."

"Tell that to the ghost I just talked to."

"Ghost?" Ultra Magnus asked, EM showing his curiosity.

"Seriously, Magnus, I just got a comm. from a dead line supposedly coming from inside my base saying someone's going to go after you during your speech tomorrow – a speech I had no idea was actually happening until you confirmed it, by the way – and my new comm. officer told me the last time he'd seen something like that, the info allowed Sentinel to get into position in time to save Angmor Park. I don't know if it's a glitch, a ghost, or someone with interesting hacking skills, but they know something we don't. Humor me, okay?"

"Aeterna…"

"And if not for me, then for that youngling of yours."

"Hot Rod would be quick to point out he's only a few orns shy of being twenty-vorns-old and a legal adult," Magnus stated. Aeterna laughed.

"And he's going to be treated as a youngling until he's at least a megavorn, legal or not."

Magnus chuckled and replied, "I know, but I don't have the spark to tell him his next few vorns are going to be pretty much the same as the last few." Then Magnus turned melancholy. "Nearly twenty vorns of war, Aeterna. The Last Sparked don't even remember a peaceful Cybertron. How much longer?"

"Until all are one," Aeterna replied quietly. Magnus was silent for along moment, and then nodded.

"Until all are one. And I'll make sure there's proper security tomorrow. Ultra Magnus out."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"I hate these things and we really don't have time for this," Ultra Magnus complained as old Kup looked him over.

"You'll make time, Magnus, because while you'd rather play soldier and chase down the 'Cons now that you've got them routed, you're a leader and those people out there need a reason to cheer. Think of it as ensuring good morale," Kup said. Magnus huffed.

"Magnus!" a slighter red form yelled as he stomped into the room.

"What is it now, Hot Rod?" Magnus asked with the long-strained patience of a parent dealing with a teenager.

"You've got me doing guard duty! I thought we were supposed to be off duty during the speech! I wanted to watch it."

"You can still watch it. I've got you stationed across from the old Collective building," Magnus tried to soothe the irate youngling.

"Yeah, at the back of the crowd," Hot Rod muttered.

"Look, Hot Rod, if you want to be a soldier, then you've got to take the bad with the good. Unless you don't want to be a soldier any more?"

"What? No! I want to be a soldier! I worked hard for that responsibility!"

"If you want the responsibility, then you'll take your post and stay there. I can't afford to play favorites," Magnus ordered.

"Fine," Hot Rod grumped, "I guess I'll see you again when you relieve me from my post." The two older mechs watched the younger one leave. Ultra Magnus slowly cycled his vents.

"I swear, I'm not sure what to do with that youngling. He used to be so cute and obedient."

"Leave him to me, Magnus. I'll get him into shape."

"Alright, old friend. We'll tell him after this Pit-damned speech is over."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Praxis had been solidly Neutral territory at the start of the war, but as the war continued on, the city had become an underground supply source for the Autobots, which is why they had rallied quickly to save it when the city council requested help against the Decepticons trying to take them over. Today was to celebrate the Autobots' recent victory and confirm that Praxis was now Autobot territory. Excitement was running high; there had been little to celebrate of late.

Praxis's main square was set up among the highest buildings above most of the rest of the city, not hard to do when most of the city had been carved into the side of a deep depression. The square was surrounded by the city's most important buildings; the city council chambers, the Security Division's main building as the city had tried to maintain both the building and the law enforcement it represented, a few exchanges specializing in energon and other precious resources, and finally the Collective's data exchange which had been abandoned when the city council had turned to the Autobots for help. The Collective building was locked and no one was allowed inside, making it the only building on the square without at least a few mechs hanging out on it.

Hot Rod diligently stood at his post, or as diligent as one could be when one was fidgeting. It was growing hot between the lights put out to mimic their no longer existent sun and the growing crowd, and Hot Rod was growing bored with nothing to do but stand there. There was no one close by interested in talking to him; most of the crowd nearby was made of former Neutrals who looked down on his scuffed soldier-style armor and mods, never mind that he'd helped save their city. The ones truly excited about their change in status were crowding the platform hastily erected on the ramp leading up to the City Council Chambers (stairs being a foreign concept to a species that ranged in size from minibot to city-sized). At any rate, Hot Rod couldn't even leave his post to go get some energon goodies some enterprising street hawkers were selling in the thick of the crowd.

Hot Rod shifted again and recounted windows and outcroppings in the Collective Building across the way. A rising cheer made him face front again and he felt a surge of pride when he saw Ultra Magnus standing there shining, all polish and gleam, in the distance because that was _his_ mentor up there, even if he was still mildly irked at said mentor. To his disappointment, a city official started the proceedings, droning on about how grateful they all were and how they all looked forward to siding with the Autobots (which was a blatant lie if Hot Rod had ever heard one) and blah, blah, _blah_. At least Magnus kept it short and to the point when he had to speak. The way the city official was going on, however, that wouldn't be for awhile.

Hot Rod groaned and started counting windows on the Collective building again, which is why he saw the assassin. Frankly, Hot Rod was wondering how everyone else was missing him; the assassin was bright green, toting a visible sniper rifle, and the only mech in the supposedly locked Collective Building. Hot Rod's first instinct was to shoot the assassin and he probably would have if it hadn't occurred to him that he was standing a crowd of civilians and the sniper was far enough away that he could very well miss. 'It'd look bad if I missed,' he mused, the fact that he might hit an innocent if he missed not even occurring to him. It looked like the slaggerd was taking his time setting up, which meant it wasn't the city official he was gunning for, but Magnus, a thought that made Hot Rod's internal temperature plunge. No way was he going to let something happen to Magnus. Hot Rod was pretty certain that if he hurried, he could reach the assassin before the assassin got a shot off.

Decision made, Hot Rod left his post and pushed his way through the crowd, apologizing as he did. Thankfully the crowd was thin on this edge and he made it through pretty quickly. Once he reached the building, Hot Rod took a nanobreem to observe the broken lock before he slipped inside and changed into his alt, zooming up the interior ramps.

:What the frag are you doing?: Kup suddenly asked over his comm. line. :You're not at your post!:

:No time to explain, old geezer.:

:What do you mean, 'No time'? Of course you have time! Just because you're young doesn't mean you can go running off whenev-:

Hot Rod turned off his radio just before he transformed and took what he imagined was a heroic flying leap at the assassin. He neglected to consider that the assassin might have heard him coming. In a neat little move Hot Rod would never forget, the minibot-sized assassin twisted under Hot Rod, swung himself up so he was on Hot Rod's back, and sunk an energy blade through Hot Rod's shoulder even as they landed, the assassin on top and the tip of the blade sinking into the floor, pinning him there.

"Pathetic. This's the best the Autobots can do? No wonder the Decepticons are winning," the green assassin whispered, hissing slightly. Then the mech pressed something in Hot Rod's neck and Hot Rod felt himself go limp from the neck down.

"You can watch us," the assassin said as he removed the blade and moved Hot Rod into a sitting position, supporting Hot Rod's head and back against the door-sized window frame. Hot Rod could see purple optics and Decepticon symbol amid the green armor, and when the assassin moved, he had a disturbingly good view of the platform holding the city officials and Magnus. There was the sudden sound of cheers and feet stamping in the Cybertronian version of applause. The city official must have finally finished.

:Kup.:

:Oh, now you decide to listen to me.:

:Shut up, Kup,: Hot Rod replied as he watched the 'Con return to the sniper rifle and aim at Ultra Magnus, who was coming forward now to speak. :He's gonna kill Magnus!: Hot Rod sent the location.

:We know. Now where are you?:

:What do you mean, you know?!:

:We know he's there. Where ever you are, stay put.:

:Uh, kinda have to now. Just tell me you you're about to stop him because he's taking aim right now.: More than taking aim.

"No!" Hot Rod cried out as he saw the assassin pull the trigger. Then the assassin cursed and Hot Rod recognized the light effect of a laser hitting a force field. Alarmed cries and shocked murmurs came from outside even as the assassin started taking apart and subspacing the sniper rifle. Hot Rod let his vents out in relief, which he regretted because it attracted the Decepticon's attention.

:Uh, Kup, you know how you told me to stay put?:

:…yes.:

:Help!:

:Frag it all, Hot Rod, if you've gone and gotten yourself into trouble because you can't follow a simple order-: Kup's rant was cut off by the 'Con rather painfully destroying Hot Rod's comm. with a well-placed blow.

"Red-fool stinks as a hostage," the 'Con told him, "but Red-fool will have to do."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Kup had ordered the Collective building to be surrounded once they had located the would-be assassin, but now he was cursing up a storm. This was far too similar to that one situation in Iosis involving the then-Prime back in the day and he still remembered how badly that had turned out. At least they weren't dealing with Quintessons, which meant it was theoretically possible to make a deal with the Decepticon that wouldn't end in someone offline.

"Status?" Ultra Magnus asked as he strode up to Kup.

"You shouldn't be here, sir. He might still take a shot at you. Bad enough he's got a hostage."

Kup saw Magnus's fist clench even as Magnus calmly asked, "Who?"

"I'll give you three guesses, but since I know you've noticed he's not where he supposed to be, the first two don't count," Kup replied.

"Slag. Is the Decepticon aware of what he has?"

"Doubtful."

"Hmm. Alright, let's get this over with."

Kup nodded, raised the volume on his voice processor and called out, "We have you surrounded! Surrender and come out peacefully or we will retrieve you by force!"

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Kup gave a grimace when he heard Hot Rod's shout and he warily watched the youngling stumble out of the building. Hot Rod's arms appeared to be bound behind his back and frag if that wasn't a minibot-sized 'Con wrapped around Hot Rod's back and holding an energy blade to the youngling's neck. That was going to be one hard target to hit if they didn't want to kill the youth.

"We have two blades," the little Decepticon called out to them, "Second one goes through Red-fool's spark if you don't let us leave."

"What assurances do we have that you won't kill Hot Rod?" Ultra Magnus asked, displaying an impressive amount of calm for someone watching his youngling being taken hostage.

"Hot Rod?"

"Your hostage."

"Magnet-bot cares what happens to Red-fool," the 'Con purred.

"Of course I do," Magnus said. Kup saw Hot Rod straighten slightly under the 'Con's weight at that, only to slump when Magnus continued with, "He was the last one sparked of the Last Sparked. He's only a youngling and we all care about him. Would you really kill a youngling?"

:Magnus, should you be telling him that? I thought hostage negotiation involved down-playing how important a hostage is,: Kup asked his commander over a private comm. line.

:It does, but in this case I thought it might be a good idea to let him know we'd hunt him down for killing this particular hostage,: Magnus replied, only to wince at Wasp's answer.

"Magnet-bot seems to think Wasp cares. No one cares for Wasp like Magnet-bot cares for Red-fool, so why should Wasp care about Red-fool?"

There was a pause before Ultra Magnus carefully asked, "Who's Wasp?"

"We are Wasp," the Decepticon replied, sounding surprised he was being asked. Kup let his vents hiss in distress because it was starting to really look like that the little 'Con was seriously glitched and that made the situation all the more dangerous.

"And what does Wasp want?"

"Magnet-bot offline and us safely away, but we will settle for one of the two."

Kup caught the edge of a wicked grin on the 'Con's ferrofluid face mask. It was the only clue they had of what the 'Con was thinking as he was keeping his EM close and tight.

"Which would you prefer more?" Ultra Magnus asked.

There was a pause before Wasp said, "Red-fool will walk up to you carrying us. You will not attack us and we will let Red-fool go. We can always kill him next time." Kup watched Hot Rod's EM shiver at the last line, which had practically been purred into the youngling's audio. Then, as Ultra Magnus pursed his lip plates, Kup realized that Ultra Magnus was actually seriously considering the Decepticon's proposal.

:Magnus, no! You can't trust that mini-con!:

:We have to give somewhere, Kup, or he'll offline Hot Rod for sure.:

Out loud, Magnus said, "Agreed," and then lowered his gun. The troops followed his lead and example. Once all the weapons were lowered, Wasp spurred Hot Rod forward. Hot Rod stumbled awkwardly toward Magnus, balance thrown off by the arm bindings and Wasp's weight on his back. When Hot Rod was mere nanokliks away, Wasp tensed and then leapt at Ultra Magnus. Ultra Magnus ducked, which is why the blade only bit into his shoulder instead of something vital lower down, even as Wasp used Ultra Magnus's chassis as a platform for a second leap. The little mech twisted in the air, transforming. He hit the ground in his alt and zoomed off. Several soldiers fired shots after the Decepticon before they transformed and took off after him. Kup joined them, aware of their medic and remaining soldiers moving to help Magnus and free the youngling.

The only way out of the city from here involved a ramp leading to the lower city, so Kup moved to block it. He was just in time, because here came the young ones roaring his way, the Decepticon in the front. Then, much to Kup's surprise as well as the shock of the following soldiers, Wasp transformed and leapt helm-first over the sheer edge. The little 'Con flipped in mid-air and caught the edge of the ramp below and used it to launch himself onto the roof of a building farther down and not close enough to reach from a straight jump.

Kup cursed as he tried to turn around and get out of the way all at once. The younger ones barely managed to slip past him onto the ramp even as Kup watched Wasp hurdle the gap between that building and the next, which had a sloped roof the assassin slid down before diving down below, presumably to street level. Kup frowned and followed the young ones down into the lower city, directing the search for their assassin. A cycle later, when Ultra Magnus commed and asked where they were, Kup had to give in and admit they'd lost him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"Some-bot cheated! Some-bot warned Magnet-bot!" Wasp hissed as he paced.

Swindle watched the assassin warily. It had been Onslaught's idea to hire an assassin to kill Ultra Magnus during the speech in order to lower Autobot morale in this sector, but Swindle had been in charge of the actual hiring. Wasp had been a real deal, too – a talented mech without the rep to prove it. Now that Swindle had met Wasp, he wondered if he shouldn't have spent the extra credits on someone with a good reputation, a feeling that grew the longer he was in the mech's presence. Swindle would be the first to admit his fellow Combaticons weren't exactly stable after going though the experiment that had turned them into a gestalt team, but Wasp was _insane_.

On the other hand, Wasp had a point. The assassin had shared the video of what had happened, thankfully limiting it to video and audio (Swindle didn't think he could handle the crazy fragger's emotions on top of it) and that had been quite the force field the Autobots had up. Swindle knew exactly how expensive and power consumptive a force field that size was as well as how long it took to set up, and the Autobots didn't waste those kinds of resources unless they believed they needed to.

"Who would've told?" Vortex asked, "We're the only ones who knew."

"We" included the Combaticons and the other five mechs in this lonely outpost. They wouldn't be there much longer. They were already stripping it of anything useful and would destroy the remains once they were all out and had a place to go.

"We need to, ah… discuss payment since you were unable to finish your objective in the time-frame given," Swindle said carefully, hoping to take the assassin's attention off of the more idiotic members of his gestalt before Wasp killed one of them. Wasp cycled his vents rapidly, but otherwise didn't respond.

"Why should be pay the useless little slaggerd anything at all?" Brawl asked very loudly. Swindle gave Brawl a nasty look. Swindle didn't like anyone making his job harder and, while he loved credits a lot more than the next mech, he was prepared to pay the insane assassin just to leave. It was just unfortunate that none of his fellows except for Onslaught seemed to realize how very dangerous Wasp truly was. Well, maybe Blast Off did; he certainly had avoided Wasp, but then Blast Off avoided every mech he considered inferior and that was everyone. Onslaught had known Swindle was going to get the best he could get for the credits and, after seeing the video, had been watching the assassin with a certain air of wary thoughtfulness. Swindle himself had been impressed; the hostage situation had been a beautiful example of Decepticon-style assassin training in a mech crazy enough to leave his relatively safe perch in order to try and take a shot at his target while surrounded by trigger-happy enemy forces and the mech had _still_ made it out alive and unharmed. Their comm. officer, Offbeat, had gone very quiet after seeing the video, but Brawl, Vortex, and the last four Decepticons they were stuck here with just didn't seem to realize what they'd just seen. That was about to change.

Wasp was also giving Brawl a look, one that made the much larger mech twitch. It went on for a long breem before Brawl had enough, unsubspaced a weapon, and aimed it at the smaller mech.

"You stop looking at me like that, you worthless scrapheap! You didn't even finish the job, so don't you look at me like that!"

Later on, Swindle would often replay what happened next for his own edification that, yes, he did witness the little green mech take out Brawl - and for blackmail purposes, of course. At the time, all he could think was that he was about to find out how it felt to lose someone he was quantum-bonded to. Brawl himself would later admit that he remembered pulling the gun and threatening the mech one nanobreem and the next, he was on his back with errors running on about the now missing arm that had held the gun while Wasp was on top of him, holding those Pit-damned blades pointed right at his optics.

"If it's about the credits - " Swindle began, only to be cut off by Wasp growling, "Wasp not care about credits. Wasp want traitor-bot dead!"

"I'm not a traitor!" Brawl shouted, expressing real fear now of the little mech literally radiating fury. Swindle quickly began looking for a scapedrone. His fellow Combaticons, bless their twisted sparks, beat him to it.

"If anyone here is likely to be a traitor, it would be Offbeat," Onslaught suggested, "After all, he is the one with Autobot encryptions saved in his software."

"So I can unencrypt them!" their nervous little communications officer wailed, all too aware of Wasp's helm swiveling to observe him. "So we can listen in on the Autobot's comm. conversations!"

"Listen to comms, send 'em. What's the difference?" Vortex drawled.

"I didn't! I wouldn't!" Offbeat yelled, obviously frightened of the green mech now utterly focused on him as evidenced by Wasp sliding off of Brawl and slowly stalking towards the communications officer.

"Can you prove it?" Blast Off asked.

Offbeat looked around wildly, but the Combaticons were presenting a unified front of accusation while the other four mechs weren't looking at him at all. Swindle could see Offbeat's moment of crystal-clear clarity as he realized he was being thrown to the sharkticon to save the others and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"No," he whispered, off-lining his optics. His death was surprisingly merciful in its swiftness.

"Goodbye, traitor-bot," Wasp hissed as he removed his blade from Offbeat's spark chamber.

::Idiot. After all the trouble we went to in order to become a gestalt, you better not go getting yourself killed,:: Onslaught threatened Brawl over their quantum bond where only their fellow Combaticons could hear them.

::Yeah,:: Brawl replied, looking at Wasp and shuddering in his system. That's when the comm. station blared with the sound of an incoming message, making the gathered Decepticons jump. Looks were exchanged as it struck them that their comm. officer was currently lying off-lined on the floor in a growing puddle of his own fluids.

"Anyone know how to answer that?" Vortex asked as they all looked at the comm. station's complicated design.

"Can't be that hard. All Offbeat did was press buttons," Swindle stated as he approached the comm. station. He made a small show of studying the control panel because he didn't want to admit knowing how to use it in front of Wasp. Once he deemed enough time had passed, Swindle answered the incoming comm. A mech Swindle knew as Dynamo appeared onscreen once he did.

"About time! Hey, where's Offbeat?"

"Offbeat's… not available," Swindle stated diplomatically.

"Wasp killed him for being a traitor and ruinin' his shot at Ultra Magnus," Brawl loudly added with much less tact. Dynamo's optics went to Brawl and his missing arm, then to the assassin who was liberally spattered in fluids normally kept inside a mech.

"Uh huh."

"What did you need? I have a few things for sale at a great price!" Swindle said cheerfully, adding Offbeat's mods to his mental list. He could probably sell the body itself for scrap metal. "Weapons, mods, info."

"Actually I was calling to give you lot info and it's free," Dynamo replied archly.

"Free's good," Vortex quickly spoke up, all too used to Swindle's ways to turn down anything given freely.

"Megatron's moving everyone on the southern front to this village here," Dynamo said, coordinates and a map coming through, "and that includes you lot. He especially wants Bruticus there. A couple other troops will meet you there. We're finally making a bid for Altihelix."

"Great! We have a few last breem things to deal with and then we'll be there!" Swindle said.

"Good," Dynamo replied. "All hail Lord Megatron."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Ultra Magnus frowned as he fought the urge to scratch at the weld on his shoulder as his repair nanytes worked to make it one with the rest of his structure.

"Scratch it and a I'll take a cue from CMO Ratchet and start throwing things," First Aid warned mildly, EM expressing amusement at the idea. Magnus smiled at the mild-mannered Protectobot.

"I'll resist," he promised as he stood and moved to leave the med bay. A worried Hot Rod and irritated Kup waited outside. Hot Rod relaxed in relief at the sight of him before the youngling's expression took on a sullen, stubborn expression Magnus was starting to recognize all too well.

"Kup, I'll meet you in the comm. room in a few breems. I need to grab a data pad from my office first."

Kup nodded and left. Hot Rod looked after Kup, EM expressing surprise, then wariness and a little fear when he realized he was being left alone with Magnus.

"Um, I'll just…" Hot Rod managed, pointing down the hall after Kup.

"Hot Rod, walk with me, please," Magnus requested, snagging his youngling before Hot Rod could make good his escape. The walk to Magnus's office was filled with an uneasy silence. It remained even as Magnus gestured Hot Rod to enter the office first. Magnus was already looking for the data pad on his desk when Hot Rod finally spoke up.

"Are you going to ream me out for leaving my post, too?" Hot Rod asked, fidgeting where he stood and casting a longing look at the door.

"I should. You disobeyed a direct order and put yourself and others in danger."

"I thought I was protecting you! No one told _me_ they knew the assassin was there!"

"So why didn't you tell them when you noticed he was?"

Hot Rod opened his mouth and then closed it, EM all thoughtful confusion. "I don't know. I guess I wasn't thinking."

"No, you weren't," Magnus stated sharply. Hot Rod's EM flinched, making Magnus feel guilty for the rough words.

"Look," he offered, "Maybe you're not ready to be a soldier yet." After all, it wasn't like he'd ever really wanted to force his youngling to become a soldier.

"Magnus, no! I'll do better next time! Just please don't take me out of the ranks!" Hot Rod pleaded, optics wide and bright and his EM rolling into a begging position. Magnus relented under the force of the expression, knowing that sooner or later he'd regret it even as he caved.

"Alright, but you need to learn to obey orders, even ones that don't make sense to you. Sometimes the one giving them to you doesn't know the why either, because he got them from someone further up with a better view of the battlefield."

"Yes sir!" Hot Rod replied, all eager readiness that made Magnus's spark ache. So young. Too young, really, but the world wasn't giving them a choice and it was what Hot Rod wanted.

"And next time you see something you think is important, tell someone."

"Yes sir!"

"Very well. Starting tomorrow, you're working under Kup."

"… aww."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Ultra Magnus strode into the comm. room feeling better now that he'd squared a few things away with Hot Rod, although his shoulder still itched like crazy.

"You're luck you're still alive," Kup stated without preamble.

"That bad?" Magnus asked.

"Everything we could find on that Wasp character suggests he's a fully-trained assassin with a very glitched processor. An' I can tell you stories about sane assassins that'd freeze your lines. In fact, there was this one time - "

"Let's save the stories for later, Kup. We need to discuss how this affects things."

"Uh, sir?" Copperflame, who was monitoring the comm. station spoke up.

"What is it?"

"We've got an incoming on a dead code. I'll just block it, shall I?"

"No, stop!" Magnus ordered sharply, making everyone in the room stare at him.

"Magnus, what the frag?" Kup asked.

"You know that warning we got from Aeterna about the assassin?"

"Yes," Kup replied, tone and EM indicating this had better be good.

"Aeterna said zie got the warning from a ghost using a dead code. Let's just say, I'd like to meet this ghost. Patch it through."

"Yes sir."

:I was starting to wonder if you were going to answer.: The words scrolled down the screen in place of an image.

"My apologies. I'm Ultra Magnus."

:You survived. Good.:

"If you're the ghost that spoke to Aeterna - "

:I am.:

Magnus nodded as he continued, "Then I owe you my gratitude. Thank you." There was a long pause, prompting Kup to snark, "It's polite to say 'You're welcome' when someone thanks you."

:You are welcome, Ultra Magnus, but let us put pleasantries aside. Megatron is going to attack Altihelix.:

"When?" Magnus asked, fingers creaking as he clenched them into a fist.

:Soon. 5,000 mechs are already mobilizing, including at least one gestalt team, the Combaticons, with a few additional troops on their way. Anything more is unknown.:

Kup was cursing now even as Magnus frowned.

"Thank you for the information. Before you go, is there anything we can call you so we know it's you and not someone pretending to be you?" There was no answer for so long that Magnus asked Copperflame, "Did he sign off?"

"Line's still open," Copperflame replied, "but sir? The comm. unit says the call's originating from this room."

"Of course it does. Ghost, remember?" Magnus said as he finally gave in and gave his shoulder a good rub, but he stopped when something else appeared onscreen.

:AB-1025.:

"AB-1025 what?" Magnus mused out loud.

:That is what you may call me,: the ghost replied right before the line died.

"Line's dead, sir," Copperflame said unnecessarily.

"The Protectobots should be able to take on the other gestalt, although I hope there's not more than one. Still, we're not up to taking on more than five thousand Decepticons," Magnus stated before asking, "Who's closest to us?"

"Sentinel," Kup replied.

"Of course he is," Magnus sighed. "Who else?"

"Elita-1's a bit further out and so is Axiom," someone else offered.

"Hail all of them. We're going to need them."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

The battle just outside Altihelix was going surprisingly well considering Ultra Magnus felt like he was continually bumping heads with Sentinel Minor. There had been, much to his relief, only the one Decepticon gestalt and Defensor was doing a mighty fine job of keeping him busy. It was the rest of the Decepticon troops giving them trouble. It had taken him the better part of a joor and Sentinel getting wounded to get it through Sentinel's processors that Axiom and Elita-1 were already on their way and if they kept drawing the Decepticon troops in, they could catch them between all three. Once they had arrived, the pincher move worked beautifully. Most of the Decepticons were off-line or taken as prisoners of war. The gestalt, however, had gotten away after giving Defensor quite the dent upside the helmet, much to Hot Spot's displeasure.

"Hey, Boss! Can I requisition better armor? I swear they all go for the head," Hot Spot called cheerfully from his med berth as Ultra Magnus walked into the med bay.

"I'll see what we can do, Hot Spot," Ultra Magnus agreed even as he wondered why First Aid wasn't working on his fellow gestalt member. The idea did have merit and Hot Spot had ended up in the med bay a few times too many since becoming part of a the Protectobots. Magnus then nearly had a spark attack when he realized that the reason First Aid wasn't working on Hot Spot was because he was working on Hot Rod.

"Hot Rod?"

"Hey, Magnus! I've got a really awesome battle wound I'll have to show everyone. Of course Aid here seems to have mistaken me for Hot Spot because our designations start the same," the youngling teased even as he waved at his mentor. First Aid calmly reached up and immobilized the arm he was currently welding. Once he finished, he straightened.

"There, done. The repair nanytes will do the rest. In a few joors you won't even have a mark."

"Aw."

"Why don't you go show off your battle scar while its still there, hm?" First Aid asked.

"Yeah! Permission to leave, sir?" Hot Rod asked, practically bouncing where he sat.

"Of course. If First Aid says you're fine, then you should probably give up your berth to someone who needs it."

"Oh, okay." Well that hadn't been the most enthusiastic of responses.

"Tell you what. Everyone seems to be gathering here," Magnus added, sending Hot Rod some coordinates for a good sized room in the building the inhabitants of Altihelix had kindly offered for their use. "Go and show off. Just stay away from the high grade and any specialty mixes, okay?"

"Yeah! Thanks, Magnus!" With that, Hot Rod was off and out the door.

"That youngling's almost as energetic as I am," Hot Spot stated with a chuckle.

"No one is as energetic as you are," First Aid said as he started fixing Hot Spot's dented armor.

"Can you give me any information on where Bruticus might have gone?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"No clue, Boss," Hot Spot replied with a shake of his head. "If it was just Bruticus, I'd say he's just wandering around somewhere, but Bruticus is surprisingly stupid considering how intelligent his component parts are. Pit, I prefer facing Bruticus than his individual components. At least one of them is scarily smart and the others are just scary."

"I'm just glad we were in time to help the inhabitants of Altihelix," First Aid offered quietly.

"Yeah. How did you know to rush us here, anyway, Boss?"

Ultra Magnus paused and then replied, "A ghost told me."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"A ghost calling itself AB-1025?" Elita-1 asked, her EM curling in incredulousness.

"I've heard of soldier's superstitions before, but that one's a doozy," Axiom added.

"Sentinel, you received a text-only comm. from a dead encryption right before the battle of Angmor Park, correct? One that claimed to come from your own comm. station?" Ultra Magnus asked sternly.

"I… yes," Sentinel agreed with a frown.

"What did it say? Ooh, I'm a ghost?" Axiom asked jovially. Sentinel glared at him.

"No, actually, it called me by name and gave me the exact number of Decepticons heading for Angmor Park before disconnecting. There wasn't anything about an AB-1020, though."

"AB-1025," Ultra Magnus corrected, "and I suspect that I was the first to keep it on line for any length of time. I threw whoever or whatever it was for a loop when I thanked them. But it's contacted at least three officers, possibly more, with highly pertinent and extremely detailed information. I'd like us and our comm. officers to compare notes on this thing, whatever it is."

"Alright, if it will make you happy, Magnus. I'll tell your brother too, if you like?"

"Thank you, Elita."

"If we're done with this briefing, we seem to be missing a party," Axiom pointed out. Ultra Magnus nodded. He might not like Sentinel, but Sentinel didn't like Axiom and it was probably best if they went their separate ways while they were still drained from the battle. Magnus approached Elita-1.

"May I escort my brother's consort?"

"Well aren't you a gentle-mech," Elita-1 replied with a soft smile. They headed off towards the noise of the on-going party. Hopefully by now most of the troops would be smashed enough to not care that their superior officers were getting overcharged with them. Of course, they could have their own private, officers-only party but where was the fun in that? Especially since it would mean being trapped in a room with Sentinel Minor and Axiom.

"Do you want us to try and keep this ghost quiet," Elita-1 asked as they neared the crowd.

"Magnus!" Hot Rod suddenly yelled, running up. "You have to hear this. They're saying that the Autobots have a ghost protecting us! Is it true?"

:Don't bother,: Magnus sent to Elita-1, who only smirked in reply, before saying out loud, "Yes, apparently."

And with that, the rumors started to spread.


	5. Part 2: Chapter 2

Warning: Minor torture scene this chapter. Also death, but I tend to kill someone almost every chapter so that shouldn't be a surprise. There's a reason there's a lot of OCs in the beginning and not the end. Further warnings and disclaimers in the first chapter of Part 1.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

_Chapter 2_

Smokescreen walked down the hall with a purpose, even if he wished he didn't have to be. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his job; it was more who he was heading to see. Honestly, Smokescreen was convinced Hot Rod's real issues were the same Smokescreen had with his own mentor, namely that the older bot didn't want to believe their sparkling had grown up and was capable of making their own informed decisions. Thinking about his mentor brought a sharp pain to Smokescreen's spark, even if said mech had been dead for over fourteen vorns now. They hadn't spoken about their respective choices before he'd died and Smokescreen rather regretted that.

"Knock knock," Smokescreen called even as he suited actions to words.

"Come in," Hot Rod called through the door to his room. Smokescreen obeyed and entered Hot Rod's room. The mech had lucked out and gotten his own room, mostly because the space was so tiny and cramped it could barely fit one mech, much less two. Hot Rod was apparently fully aware of that fact because he was seated on the far end of the berth that took up most of the room's space. There was a narrow walkway between the berth and the opposite wall and a few shelves hung over the bed. Smokescreen sat on the other end of the berth as it was the only place to sit and he didn't want to tower over the younger mech for this conversation.

"You changed your color scheme," Smokescreen observed both out of a desire to set Hot Rod at ease and genuine curiosity. Hot Rod shrugged his EM.

"I wanted a change. Do you like it?" the younger mech asked, waving a hand at his chassis. It looked to be a less reddish-orange and more of a true orange now, although that might have been an optical illusion created by the bright yellow flame markings Hot Rod now sported over his chest.

"It's nice," Smokescreen conceded. Hot Rod was certainly young enough to pull it off, although Smokescreen wouldn't be surprised if Kup and Magnus hated it.

"Someone told you I've been having night terrors, didn't they?" Hot Rod changed the subject rather astutely.

"Yeah. Is it about the battle last orn?" Smokescreen asked. Honestly, a few night terrors were practically innocent compared to some of the ways mechs reacted after being in a battle where they dealt death, and certainly easier to deal with.

"Sort of. Mostly. But they're also about what happened before the battle too."

"Before the battle? You mean the hostage situation?"

"Yeah," Hot Rod agreed.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Smokescreen offered, giving his most charming poker smile even as he wondered why Hot Rod seemed more worried by the hostage situation than by his killing a mech. Hot Rod cycled his vents and leaned back until his helm hit the wall with a soft clank.

"I… It always starts with the hostage situation, as everyone calls it. The assassin is wrapped around me and purring the nastiest things in my audio. Then Magnus appears and the assassin leaps at him, only Magnus doesn't duck. And then we're all fighting in the battle except Magnus isn't there to lead us and we lose."

Smokescreen nodded. It was the basic what-if and if-then scenarios bots ran through while recharging. Hot Rod just had the bad luck to be stuck on a rather unpleasant loop. Hot Rod, in the meantime, took Smokescreen's silence as encouragement to continue.

"I wasn't scared during the battle at the time because Magnus was there leading us and I trust him. I didn't… like it as much as I thought I would. The fighting, I mean. Especially not those two Decepticons I killed. They tend to feature, too, you know. Like they're waiting to pay me back for killing them by returning the favor during my recharge time."

"That's normal. All of what you've told me is," Smokescreen assured him even as he felt reassured himself that Hot Rod hadn't enjoyed killing a fellow mech.

"What do I do about it?" Hot Rod asked plaintively.

"First, mourn your victims to put their sparks at rest," Smokescreen told him. It was rather religious advice but most mechs were, if not religious, then highly superstitious. Knowing for a fact that your spark came from a source outside of your control tended to do that. And it helped, if not because it put restless sparks at peace then because it helped agitated processors deal with the guilt.

"Alright," Hot Rod agreed.

"After that I want you to go over exactly what did happen, compare it to your night terrors to figure out what's bothering you, and then run a few what-if scenarios to see how you can make things better the next time we have a similar situation." That should be easy enough. It was pretty obvious that Hot Rod was upset was because Ultra Magnus had gotten hurt because of what Kup rather unhelpfully kept calling "Hot Rod's stupid mistake." Hot Rod grimaced at the suggestion.

"Do I have to?"

"If you want to have a decent recharge again, then yes. Tell you what. You do it and I'll keep tabs on you to make sure you are and getting better and I'll see about sneaking you some high grade at the party next orn." There was always a party every vorn at the same time, on the anniversary of the attack on the Allspark Temple at Simfur. Half of the day would be spent in silence, mourning those who had passed especially within the past vorn, and then the other half would be spent in celebrating those that still lived, especially their own Last Sparked who always turned a vorn older on that date. Smokescreen wasn't entirely certain if Hot Rod knew it wasn't just a celebration for his sparking; it was kind of hard to miss that there was something else going on but then again the entire troop tended to spoil their sparkling and it was possible they'd accidentally formed a vast conspiracy to hide the truth.

"If you don't lose it all gambling," Hot Rod teased.

"Hey, that's how I get the good stuff," Smokescreen protested with a smile before he asked, "Deal?"

"Deal. Oh, uh, hey. Before you leave…can I ask you something?"

"Shoot, kid."

"You're barely older than I am," Hot Rod protested. Smokescreen laughed and gave Hot Rod a playful nudge.

"If the old fogeys get to refer to me as a youngling just because I haven't hit my first megavorn yet, you better believe I'm gonna return the favor, kid," Smokescreen told him, "You'll be able to do the same once we get some new sparklings."

"When will that be?"

"When the war's over and we can retrieve the Allspark."

"I'll be as old as Kup by then," Hot Rod complained.

"I sincerely hope not," Smokescreen replied, EM flinching slightly at the idea of the war running on that long. He stood to leave.

"Wait, I didn't ask you my question yet!"

Smokescreen sat back down and asked, "What is it?"

"Is it, um, possible for a sparked mech to have an EM like a drone's?"

Smokescreen looked at Hot Rod in surprise before running the query through his onboard database. The answer came back with several gigs of information covered with various red flags such as _**Dangerous**_, _**Proceed with Caution**_, and _**You Have Not Been Trained In How To Deal With This: Do Not Engage**_. Smokescreen decided on the simple answer to Hot Rod's question.

"Yeah, it is. Why?"

"Well that assassin, Wasp or whatever, when he was touching me I noticed his EM felt weird. I didn't realize it at the time but it felt like a drone's, all calm and cold. He didn't act like a drone, though, and the EM changed once."

"Changed?"

"It was right before he attacked Magnus. His EM flared with emotion but it wasn't normal. It was kinda… like he was hunting for the right emotion? It was really weird."

"Do you know what emotion he chose?" Smokescreen asked.

"I don't know. Anger, maybe? He was leaping at Magnus by that time," Hot Rod replied with a shrug of his EM. Smokescreen nodded.

"Thanks for telling me. Now get to work on your end of our deal, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for listening."

Once he'd left Hot Rod alone in his room, Smokescreen headed straight for the comm. room and hoped to the Well and the Pit that Ultra Magnus was there. Primus or perhaps his preferred deity, Luck, was with him.

"Smokescreen," Ultra Magnus greeted him, looking up from the holographic map he'd been studying. "How's Hot Rod?"

"He'll be fine, sir, but I need to ask you a question."

"Alright."

"When the Decepticon Wasp was touching you, what was your impression of his EM?"

"What brought this on?" Ultra Magnus asked with slight frown and even slighter recoil of his EM.

"Please just answer, sir."

"Anger. Pure, unadulterated anger. In fact, if I had known he was so furious I would never have attempted to deal with him and I thank Primus he didn't know how important Hot Rod is to me. Now will you tell me what this is all about?"

"Yes, sir, as soon as you give me permission to contact CMO Ratchet," Smokescreen promised. Ultra Magnus frowned at the bit of blackmail but let it slide.

"Very well, but I will be listening in."

"Of course, sir."

The connection, when it was brought up, wasn't the best it could be but it still provided an excellent view of Ratchet's grumpy visage.

"This had better be important," Ratchet threatened.

"Sorry, but I needed a second opinion from a medical officer and you are the best, sir," Smokescreen told him.

"Well, get on with it," Ratchet ordered impatiently, only slightly mollified by the praise.

"I have reason to believe there's a Decepticon assassin roaming around suffering from DID."

"Suffering from what?" Ultra Magnus inquired with a frown even as Ratchet asked, "Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure, otherwise I wouldn't be contacting you, sir."

"What proof do you have?"

"Well, Ultra Magnus here got the impression of extreme rage from the Decepticon assassin Wasp but I just spoke to Hot Rod who was in physical contact with the mech for a short time and _he_ said that up until Wasp attacked Ultra Magnus, Wasp's EM was calm and cold like a drone's."

"Sounds like DID alright, but I don't know what you want me to do about it. Aside from diagnostic pointers, all my database says is to turn them over to a trained psychiatrist. I'm not trained in how to deal with it."

"Neither am I, sir. Didn't finish my training before they took out the Academies, remember?"

"Then just update his slagging file and quit bothering me!" Ratchet ordered before terminating the connection.

"So you need to update Wasp's file then," Smokescreen told Ultra Magnus.

"With what?" the blue and red commander asked. "And what does a drone's EM have to do with anything?"

"Oh, um, sparked mechs only ever have still EMs on two occasions. Even when we're recharging we're still reacting to the recorded emotions we're defragging. The first type of stable EM is catatonia and I knew you've dealt with that before. The mech becomes so traumatized that their spark refuses to run their body any longer and they sort of curl in on themselves. The EM is stable in whatever emotion was last felt and caused their withdrawal, usually fright or shock, and neither the patient nor the patient's EM moves."

"Yes, yes. What is DID?"

"It's short for Disassociative Identity Disorder, sir. Basically, the spark's withdrawn but the body's still moving."

"And that's bad, I take it."

"Very bad. It's… take Lieutenant Commander Prowl, for example. He gets accused of being a sparkless drone because he's extremely logical. Now picture him without morals or a sense of justice."

"I'm… not sure I can," Ultra Magnus admitted.

"Fine, then picture someone ordering a drone to murder as many mechs as it can."

"Not possible. Drones have coding to prevent that."

"But mechs don't," Smokescreen pointed out.

"Well, no. It was thought we'd know better than that and at any rate, it would have taken away our ability to protect ourselves."

"Exactly. So imagine a mech without a spark. It would act exactly like a drone only without the preventative coding."

"But Wasp wasn't sparkless. No mech can feel emotion and be sparkless."

"And that's where DID gets dangerous. Even a sparkless drone would eventually hit a situation where its coding can't help it any longer and it would freeze, but a mech suffering from DID has the luxury of having a spark to consult. I suspect that's also where Wasp's creativity came from."

"So you're saying Wasp is both a drone and a sparked mech?" Ultra Magnus asked, making sure he was understanding Smokescreen correctly.

"Yep. In DID, the spark has withdrawn, usually from trauma, but something happens where it doesn't feel safe in a catatonic state, usually continuous trauma being the culprit. The spark will then adjust zir own code so the body can operate on its own much in the same way we'd program a drone. After a series of successes the spark can become quite confident and competent in zir coding skills. And one of the first things they tend to do is attack and kill whoever traumatized them to begin with."

"Basic revenge," Ultra Magnus said.

"Yes and no. By this time the spark's completely disassociated zirself from the body's actions. The spark might think killing is a horrible thing to do and will rationalize away the desire by pointing out zir is no longer in control of the body, the "other" is. They'll even program a personality for this "other" and let it take over, so it only bothers the spark when the programming runs into something it can't deal with. The longer it goes on, the more complicated and impressive the programming and the more like dealing with two separate personalities, even if only one is real. That's of course assuming you can get past the "other" to even see the real personality which is difficult considering the whole point of the "other" is to protect the real personality."

"Would that explain why Wasp kept referring to himself as 'we'?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"Possibly."

"And the "other" lacks morals?"

"Yep. Our sense of right and wrong and justice and even basic morals all stem from our spark. Without the spark guiding the "other's" actions and reining it in, you've got a drone willing to kill indiscriminately thanks to the revenge kick that started them off."

"So what do we do?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"Us? Nothing. You heard Ratchet. He's not trained to deal with it and neither am I. The only reason I even know so much about it is because the warnings for why I shouldn't deal with it are full of information. I'm definitely not up to getting past a sociopathic alternate identity just to help the true personality deal with his trauma. Maybe someone else will be able to get through to him. For now, just… put in a warning so that anyone who runs into him knows they're dealing with someone that has absolutely no morals or qualms about casually killing whomever he encounters."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

_Several vorns later…_

"Sir! The incoming is that dead encryption everyone has been talking about!" Highyield called excitedly from the comm. station zie was manning. After hearing so many stories these past vorns about the Ghost of the Autobot Army, zie was utterly thrilled to have a chance to interact with the legend, even if zir part was limited to opening the line. Zir commanding officer frowned.

"Ignore it," Axiom ordered. Highyield's EM went utterly blank for a long nanobreem as zie stared at Axiom. Axiom waited for the mech to get over zir shock.

"But why?" Highyield asked plaintively.

"The other officers can make fools of themselves if they choose, but I'm not going to give a probable Decepticon the benefit of the doubt. Ignore it."

"Yes, sir," Highyield agreed miserably, going back to monitoring the comm. station. Aside from some desultory radio chatter between some mechs on patrol, there was nothing except that encrypted incoming that blinked mockingly at zir on the screen. After performing a quick check to make sure Axiom wasn't looking at the comm. station, Highyield answered the encryption and quickly made the screen smaller so zir chassis hid it from view unless you were right next to zir.

"AB-1025?" Highyield whispered.

:Yes.: Highyield couldn't quite contain zir glee as the tiny letters scrolled across the small window.

"Sorry about taking so long to answer, but my commanding officer doesn't want us talking to you."

:Understood. A small contingent of Decepticons are planning on raiding Trivium for energon, but the raid is not their true aim.:

Highyield barely saw that information because Axiom was jerking zir up and yelling, "You are being demoted immediately for insubordination and will be spending the next solar cycle in the brig!

"And you!" Axiom continued, pointing at the screen, "Show me your face."

:That is not possible.:

"And I refuse to listen to a coward who refuses to show their face," Axiom snarled before he killed the line.

"Uh, sir?" one of the other mechs on duty in the comm. room asked, the other expressing surprised shock.

"You, you're in charge. You, help me get this one to the brig," Axiom ordered.

"But sir, if what the ghost said about the raid is true…" Highyield began as Axiom and other soldier started dragging zir to the brig.

"We're already in a position to deal with any Decepticon raids on Trivium," Axiom snarled as he entered the codes for the brig and shoved the insubordinate officer in.

"But the ghost said that wasn't their real aim!" Highyield wailed before zie was left alone. Zie wouldn't be let out for well over a solar cycle, but that was because everyone else would too busy fighting in the oncoming attack.

In Tyger Pax, an Autobot communication's officer would receive the full, impatiently worded warning, but would be unable to reach Axiom or his troops before the Decepticons cut off all communication between Trivium and the outside world.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"Frag it all to the Pit," Axiom snarled as he dodged some laser fire before opening a comm. line to his troops. :Have any Decepticons left the vicinity of the energon plant?:

:No, sir. Looks like the plant was their objective.:

:Well, so much for the ghost's warning. Looks like a typical Decepticon energon raid to me; grab what they came for and smash everything so we can't get any more ourselves,: Axiom stated as he shot down two more Decepticons. The best part of energon raids was it was easier to kill the Decepticons because they couldn't fight back while holding the explosive energon cubes. The worst part was that there had been civilians in the energon plant and associated buildings when the attack began.

A muffled wail of pain that caught Axiom's attention and made him start searching the ruins of a badly damaged storage facility. He was about to give up when he heard the quiet rapid clicking and mechanical whines that were a Cybertronian's equivalent of crying. He followed the noise until it stopped, but by then he could see a trail of bodily fluids leading to a space created by one of the interior walls collapsing at an angle against the outer wall. Inside the small hole, a little mech covered in fluid was curled up, EM held close and tight, no doubt hoping Axiom would overlook him and keep moving. Axiom wasn't about to leave the civilian alone. He just hoped the fluid wasn't all from the mech, because he was no medic. As Axiom came closer and shone a light into the gap the mech shrank back, arms curled protectively over his chassis and Neutral-style purple optics watching Axiom warily.

"Hey. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm one of the good guys."

"You are?" the little mech asked timidly.

"Yeah. Are you alright?"

"Dead, dead, they're all dead!" the little mech wailed suddenly.

"Hey, hey! It's okay. It will be alright. I promise."

"You'll protect me?" the little mech asked after he'd calmed down, leaning forward just a tad so the light hit him differently. Axiom realized right then with a start that, under the grime, the little mech was actually very pretty. It certainly helped explain the mech protecting his chassis. Decepticons did nasty things to pretty bots.

"I'll protect you," Axiom promised, moving closer to the gap. He could no longer see the mech with his optics and was having to rely on his secondary sensors, but it put his hand within reach of the smaller mech. He found himself envisioning himself folding the mech into his arms up against his chassis and that was a very pleasing thought. The little thing would clean up well, he was certain. He immediately felt guilty for the thought, especially since the little mech was traumatized and probably wouldn't want anything to do with him after this.

Axiom hadn't even considered how vulnerable he'd left himself until he felt the blades bore into his chassis and sever the wires that allowed full movement of his arms. He stumbled back with a curse only to be toppled over by the small mech barreling into him. This time the blades cut into his legs and he fell, no longer able to support himself. Then the little mech was on his chest, destroying his comm. link. Now that the mech was out in the open, arms spread out, Axiom could see the Decepticon symbol under the nasty grime, purple on green.

"Stupid-fool," the little mech called him. This close it was impossible to miss the feel of the other's EM and with that word, his attacker's EM flared in a strange mix of emotions, anger predominant and the easiest to recognize, before it went oddly, disturbingly blank. Axiom had never seen or felt so blank an EM outside of a drone.

The blades the assassin had, one on each wrist, weren't long enough to reach Axiom's spark chamber as it was set further back in his chest, but the mech apparently knew that. Utterly calm and with a terrifyingly beautiful smile on his face, the little monster started to cut open Axiom's chest. Axiom cursed and screamed at the mech, about what he couldn't remember, until the monster shoved a blade into his voice processor and rendered him mute. That scared him more than anything; not just the lack of being able to yell but the way the mech had done the action. It had been fast without a single look away from what he was currently doing to Axiom's chest or a distinct waver of the frighteningly still EM. He'd destroyed Axiom's ability to speak with all the unconscious care that a normal mech would use to dodge someone in a hall or on a street. It had just been an action to the mech, one not terribly important at all, no matter how it had affected his victim. Axiom realized with a horrible descending sensation in his spark that he was going to die.

The crunch of metal on metal made hope flare briefly, only to die on swift wings when Axiom realized the source of the noise was a seeker-build wearing the Decepticon symbol.

"Are you done yet?" the seeker asked peevishly.

"No, but stupid-fool cuts open so beautifully," the assassin replied, engine practically purring even as the closely held EM stayed oddly still. If he hadn't seen the emotional flare earlier, Axiom could believe the assassin was an extremely well-programmed drone.

"Hurry it up! The longer we keep the other Autobots out of the way so you can do the job, the more mechs we lose!"

That's what the ghost had been trying to warn him about, Axiom realized. He was the main objective. Then assassin moved the last piece of metal preventing him from reaching inside Axiom's chassis and drove the blade home. For a long moment there was nothing, and then the Well of Sparks called him home.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

"Axiom's off-line. Assassin from the looks of it," Prowl informed Optimus Prime. Optimus Prime cycled his vents.

"This is going to cause problems."

"Indeed. There's already a rumor spreading that he died because he didn't listen to the "ghost's" advice," Prowl agreed.

"I was actually referring to the situation on the eastern front, but is there really a rumor spreading?"

"Yes, and apparently there's some truth behind it. A comm. officer in Tyger Pax received a warning about the assassination but was unable to get through to Trivium, which apparently had intelligence gatherers trying to contact us. That and Axiom's own comm. officer is babbling on about Axiom cutting off a message from our mysterious helper before the message was completed."

"Have we found out anything about this AB-1025 yet?" Optimus Prime asked his second.

"Not yet. Everyone keeps assuring me they have their best mechs on the job and even I've tried looking in my spare time, what little there is, but everything so far is a dead-end. Even the designation AB-1025 itself yielded no results."

"Perhaps we weren't meant to know. At the very least, it's been giving the troops a sense of hope, having the dead fight on our side."

"Possibly," Prowl conceded without really meaning it and they both knew it. "I do have a lead on some of our other information providers. They're in Polyhex, or at least some of them are."

"I thought Polyhex was Neutral," Optimus Prime rumbled.

"Officially, yes, but after the last land grab by the Decepticons, it's now a border territory."

"Hmm."

"I request permission to investigate Polyhex, sir. Even if I don't find our ghost, having information gatherers working directly for us would be better than relying on their good will and our ability to pay."

"Permission granted, old friend. Just do me a favor and try to find some time to relax while you're there."

"I'll hardly have time to relax, sir."

"I heard Ratchet yelling at you earlier about overworking yourself again," Optimus Prime said mildly, optics fixing Prowl with a steady look. Prowl's EM squirmed slightly under the stare.

"Very well, I'll endeavor to achieve your request."

"Good," Optimus Prime stated, EM smiling even as he gave Prowl a gentle thump on a shoulder, mindful of Prowl's sensitive sensors. Prowl paused for a nanobreem before realizing it was meant as a friendly gesture and then took his leave. He needed to pack.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

The club was located in lower-downtown Polyhex according to sources, which meant it was buried in the city-center of the borderline Neutral city, down under the towers that made up the sky-line. By the time Prowl located the ramp leading down between two buildings heavily marked with the Collective's blue sun symbol, Polyhex's sun-lights had dimmed and turned off in order to mock evening darkness. It had been… odd walking under the bright lights earlier. Autobots and Decepticons both had better uses for energon so their territories tended to be lit - or unlit, rather - the same, morning and evening, day and night. No point wasting power on the sun-lights when it could be used to power weapons instead. Still, the lights would have been nice to have while heading down the poorly-lit ramp into the deeper shadows.

There was an odd, pounding rumble coming from the door at the end, and a camera mounted up on the wall. The camera focused on Prowl with a whirr. Then there was a slight pause before the chunk-click sound of heavy bolts unlocking echoed in the dead end. Prowl pushed his way inside. The noise practically assaulted him, forcing him to dial down his audio and hold his wing-like sensor panels close to his back in self-defense.

Between the constant thumping and the electronic wailing, his first impression was that someone was being beaten. The only reason he didn't try and stop it was because no one else was and he was supposed to be blending in. After the thumping and wailing changed, he realized there was a mathematical rhythm to it and that meant it was an art form he'd heard of but never experienced before. Prowl wasn't certain he wanted to be experiencing it now. Nevertheless, he managed to force himself through the press of the crowd and reach the energon bar.

Prowl was fully aware of the bartender looking him over warily even as Prowl himself took advantage of the bar's placement to survey the room. Most of the occupants were gathered at tables and downing various types of high-grade. A few were moving oddly to the rhythm of the noise in an open space toward the back. On the edge of the open space was an orange bot folded into a strange speaker-system of all things. His EM was moving in time with the noise coming out of his speakers. Prowl wondered where the mech had gotten a hold of various versions of the art form before he realized the orange bot had a Collective symbol above one speaker. Prowl turned from the odd mech and looked around the crowd again. He was beginning to doubt he was in the right place when he was accosted by a slightly shorter mech.

"What's an Enforcer need from me that ya'll need ta stop by my club?" the strange mech asked, keeping his EM distant yet polite.

"I'm sorry. I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I'm not an Enforcer."

"Ha! Good one, but ya ain't gonna fool nobody with that stiff stance a yours. But if you're off duty, come on up and I'll treat ya."

Prowl found himself being led away by the strange bot and tried to disconnect himself, saying, "I assure you, I'm really not an Enforcer."

"I know," the strange mech said so low Prowl had trouble hearing him over the noise, "but you better hope no one else does because half this crowd is Decepticon sympathizers."

Prowl stiffened which prompted the bar's owner to laugh and say loud enough for anyone listening, "Ya Enforcer-types need ta loosen some a yer tension wires. Some super-fine high-grade oughta take care a that." There were some chuckles and then Prowl was led through a door, up a narrow ramp, and sat down in an office.

The office was smallish. An entire wall was made up of humming machinery which displayed a screen divided multiple ways that showed there were more cameras than just the one by the door. Other than that, there were just a couple of padded chairs - an expensive luxury in this age - the right size to sit Prowl and the bar's owner and a shelving system holding some very high quality energon. Said owner busied himself at the shelves, filling small cubes with a specialty-grade that glowed a bluish-purple.

"Go 'head an' sit down," the other mech said as he handed Prowl a cube before taking a seat himself.

"No, thank you."

"Yer gonna take a seat and drink your Pit-damned energon, you fool, 'cause those bots out there? They're gonna notice if you leave without looking overcharged and don't have some credits greasing your joints, if ya catch my meaning," the owner hissed. Prowl sat but not without his EM twitching in the Cybertronian equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

"You're bribing the Enforcers?"

"Keeps me in business. Now what idiot sends an even bigger idiot inta a situation like this?"

"Who are you, to be questioning me?" Prowl asked sharply, not liking this mech calling him or the Prime idiots, even if the mech didn't know who he was insulting. The mech laughed.

"Good! Answer a question wit' a question. The designation's The-mathematical-art-form-involving-sound-for-the-sake-of-sound." There was an inflection there that indicated the long phrase was indeed a name. "Most bots shorten it ta Sounds."

"Very well, "Sounds". I am Lieutenant Commander Prowl of the Autobot forces."

"I know," Sounds replied before he took a long sip of the specialty-grade. Prowl felt his logic processor stutter momentarily but he forced it to keep working - better a minor processor ache now than passing out in strange place and coming to with an even worse processor ache. There was a reasonable explanation. After all, there had been the camera at the door and more than enough time for this Sounds to look him up. There was also the possibility this Sounds was lying. Prowl wouldn't be surprised if that was so, given the mischievous curl of the other's EM.

"You know," Prowl stated flatly.

"Yep. I know all about you, Lieutenant Commander Prowl of the Autobot forces. You're stiff, no fun, favor logic over emotion, and pull a little to the left when you're shootin'," Sounds replied. Prowl, who had opened his mouth at the insult, snapped it shut at the very accurate summarization of his aim. Sounds continued, "You favor automatic pistol-types when you're in battle, although you don't go inta the thick of the fight often and instead conduct it from the side because tha' fancy experimental battle computer of yours is great at tactics but tends ta make your logic processor glitch. Is that enough, or should I keep goin'?"

"And yet you still felt it necessary to insult me and the Prime?"

"Look, I got nothin' against either a ya, but you sure as Pit don't know how to be covert." Before Prowl could retort the door slid open, allowing in the orange Collective-bot who'd been playing his host's name-sake.

"Hey, Jazz-man. Hope you don't mind me takin' my break now."

"Nah, that's fine."

"Jazz-man?" Prowl inquired, not wanting to continue their previous conversation thread in front of the Collective member.

"It's a genre a my name-sake. All my friends call me Jazz. You ain't a friend," Sounds replied. "Anyway, this here's Blaster. And since we're doing intros, behind ya is Teletraan. Tel, Blast, Lieutenant Commander Prowl of the Autobot Army." Prowl shot Sounds a look as the mech dropped the slang and purposeful word slurring of the dialect he'd been using and mockingly pronounced Prowl's title with the crisp inflection of Iacon standard.

"It is a pleasure, sir," the wall of machinery stated, letting his EM flare briefly in welcome. Prowl wondered if anything he'd said or done since approaching the entry had been private at all.

"A Collectable and a Collector are helping the Autobots by giving us intelligence?" Prowl asked.

"Not hard ta do. You're not exactly smart," Sounds quipped.

"Jazz," Blaster said, giving the other mech a look that the bar's owner cheerfully ignored. "And we're Ex-Collective," Blaster corrected, "They wouldn't take us back even if we wanted to go. Ain't that right, Tel?"

"No, indeed. Not after we stole a substantial portion of their database," Teletraan agreed.

"Tel, you see, has got the biggest database outside a the Collective itself in his memory banks. An' Blaster here was designed ta be the ultimate hacker. If ya need ta find somethin' out, we're your mechs."

There was a pause before Prowl asked, "So which of you is claiming to be a ghost called AB-1025?"

"Oh, we ain't behind him. He's good, though, I will say that," Sounds replied.

"Not as good at hacking as me. We ever get a direct connection, I'd find him in a nanobreem," Blaster boasted before deflating and admitting, "I've only ever caught the tail-end of a conversation wit someone else, though, about the attack on Praxis a few vorns back."

"What else did ya need ta know?" Sounds asked.

"In all honesty? I need you to teach me how to be covert, as you put it, so I can teach others. We _need_ more information from as many sources as possible."

"No offense, but I don't know that's possible. The best ops are the ones that go wi' the flow and you're so stiff I don't think you've eva flowed."

"Then work directly with us. You can have any soldiers you can train."

"Don't know 'bout that. We've got a pretty sweet set-up going here. And before you ask, you're not sendin' mechs ta us like we're some sorta gurus, 'kay?" Sounds replied before he drained the small cube he was still holding.

"Not like we're not already givin' ya info," Blaster pointed out.

"It's not enough and mechs are dying as a result. Please. We need your help," Prowl stoically begged. Blaster shifted uncomfortably, as did Teletraan's EM, but both looked to Sounds who was calmly studying Prowl. Prowl didn't know how Sounds had become leader, but it was obvious everything from this point on was going to be based on the mech's say-so.

"Please," Prowl repeated.

"Far be it for me ta kick a mech when he's down," Sounds finally said. "Tell ya what. If ya agree ta do all I tell ya, I'll try an' teach ya how ta be a covert op."

"As long as you don't request anything that goes against my ideals, then agreed."

"Alright. Come back early tomorrow. We'll start then."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

A/N: On the Sounds = Jazz thing, it's canon that Jazz claims "Jazz" isn't his real name and he just goes by it because his real name is hard to pronounce. If you take into account that all of the Transformers' names are supposedly rough translations into English as is and no one else is claiming their name isn't their own, that suggests "Jazz" is actually a nick-name of sorts. So I tried to come up with a similar name that no one would really want to keep repeating. The secondary nick-name of Sounds exists for a reason that should become more apparent in the next chapter.

For those of you waiting for the Twins, they do show up, but not until Part 3 (and please keep in mind that this story is proving long enough that I'm roughly using the parts as major chapter changes, ie. Part 1 equals Prologue, Part 2 roughly equals the first chapter or two, Part 3 equals the next chapter or two, and so on. I have no clue how many parts it's going to be, but there's probably at least ten). After that point the Twins are major characters (Bumblebee will be as well, to the point that his name is pretty large on a word cloud thing I performed on the rough draft/outline). In the meantime, Prowl, Jazz, and in case you haven't guessed, Wasp are all major characters in the plot, so bear with me.

Also reviews are greatly appreciated as they help let me know if I'm doing well or hanging myself on a limb. But many thanks for all the story alerts. :)


	6. Part 2: Chapter 3

Warnings: Torture and rape scene this chapter. Another death as well (surprise, surprise). Further warnings and disclaimers at Part 1: Chapter 1.

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

_Chapter 3_

With no place to go except a local hostel, Prowl wandered back to the club very early the next morning, practically the same time the sun-lights were turned back on, so he was a little surprised when he was let in right away and the owner was waiting for him. The club in lower-downtown Polyhex looked much different empty and with all the lights on and Sounds or Jazz or whatever the mech leading the operation was currently calling himself was standing in the wide space mechs had been moving in last night. Blaster was nowhere in sight, but Prowl suspected he and Teletraan were watching and listening in.

"You're earlier than I expected," Sounds or Jazz said.

"So are you. You couldn't have had much time to recharge," Prowl observed.

"What makes you think I've stopped long enough ta do that?" Jazz or Sounds asked. Prowl looked the other mech over with a slight frown.

"You're good at hiding your fatigue, then."

"Trick a the trade. I can go nearly four solar cycles wi'out rechargin'."

"Really?"

"Yep," Jazz or Sounds replied.

'_Jazz_,' Prowl thought as he observed the wide grin and cheerful EM. '_I'll think of him as Jazz. This will be easier if we're friends._' It was a surprisingly defiant thought.

"Could you teach me that trick? It would certainly be useful."

"Later. First, I'm gonna try ta get ya ta flow."

Twenty breems later, after Prowl had hit the ground for the twenty-seventh time in the row without doing the same to Jazz even once, Prowl was wondering if he had been overly optimistic both in Jazz's ability to teach him and in thinking of the mech as a friend. Every time Prowl's battle computer recognized a move or stance, Jazz changed it and took him down again. Prowl was getting frustrated by that as well as Jazz's continuous lack of explanation.

"Why do you keep changing fighting styles?" Prowl asked in irritation.

"The question is, why do ya keep stickin' ta one when I keep beatin' it inta ya that it don't work?"

Prowl paused, optics flickering as he considered that. It was a good question. He was letting his battle computer lead which meant he was just reacting to Jazz in an entirely defensive manner instead of going on the offensive. And it wasn't like he wasn't recording this; he could analyze any new moves later when he wasn't about to be beaten again.

"Oh, that's a determined expression," Jazz observed with a grin. "Ready ta actually try now?"

'_What do I know about him_,' Prowl thought as he stood again. '_I can't predict him because he's moving at random, and he admitted when we started that he's tired, even if he's good at hiding it. Nothing takes the place of a good recharge. Primus knows Ratchet's yelled at me often enough for not refueling and recharging enough for that very reason._' What he needed to do, he decided, was make Jazz react to him.

Jazz moved first, slag it, but Prowl noticed the move was slower than the ones at the beginning of their session. It was a fraction of a nanobreem, but it was enough.

:/_Boschi move. Only 3 possible counter moves,_/: Prowl's battle computer informed him. Prowl had started the move the moment the battle computer suggested it. Jazz countered with the second possible action, but Prowl's battle computer had already figured out the best move to use against it. He had Jazz on the defensive now and was guiding his movements. It was a good position to be in because sooner or later the other mech would slip in his fatigue.

:/_Sanaa move. 1 possible counter move._/: Prowl performed the move confidently only to realize in shock that Jazz wasn't using the expected counter move. This was something new to him and highly effective because suddenly Prowl wasn't on the offensive any longer. He wasn't even on the defensive. He was on the floor. Again.

"Not bad," Jazz offered from where he was straddling Prowl. "If we can getcha away from them pre-downloaded moves, we might actually be able ta make somethin' outta ya."

"You were toying with me!" Prowl stated in startled realization.

"Yep! But it helped ya get the idea I needed ya ta get."

"And what's that?" Prowl asked archly.

Jazz paused before asking thoughtfully, "If I had done the move you'd expected, where would I be?"

"Likely our positions would be reversed," Prowl noted, trying to ignore the other's weight on his pelvic gimble or the sensation of their EMs mingling. It had been awhile since he'd spent so much time in direct contact with another mech who wasn't actively trying to kill him. The troops knew not to touch him; his sensors were just a little too sensitive for it to be comfortable.

"Likely," Jazz agreed before asking, "Do you know why I didn't?"

"No."

"Because I didn't have to. I ain't a drone that has ta obey my programming. The sooner ya realize the same thing, the sooner you'll realize ya don't have ta stick ta rules an' expectations an' that can be a powerful thing. The more ya stick to what's expected, the more predictable ya become and the more likely you'll lose. If ya want ta win, ya gotta break the mold an' do what's necessary ta win."

Prowl was silent at he listened to Jazz's rather anarchic statement. It was… intriguing the way Jazz lit up with conviction and certainty even as he talked about lack of structure and regulation. He truly believed in what he was saying.

"So you're telling me you break laws and cheat in order to win," Prowl stated.

"If necessary, yeah. You didn't think Blaster's hacking was legal, didja?"

"But if you pick and choose which laws to follow and when, chaos follows."

"Not necessarily, and now we're getting' inta why I don't think ya can do this."

"Why do you say that?" Prowl asked with a frown. Jazz cycled his vents before he stood and offered Prowl a hand up. Then Jazz sat at the nearest table.

"You believe in order and law and control and so you're stiff and unyielding. That ain't necessarily a bad thing, 'cause yer a good mech. Mosta you Autobots are, which is why we've sided wi' ya. The world needs good mechs. But you keep forgetting about the good sort of chaos."

"Good sort of chaos?" Prowl replied disbelievingly.

"Yep. It's right in ya'lls motto. 'Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.' Freedom to do what?"

"The freedom to do what they want, as long as it doesn't harm anyone else," Prowl replied.

"Precisely. And what's more chaotic than free will? If we're given two options, not only can we choose one or the other, but both, neither, or maybe a third or fourth or fifth option! We can do what we want, when we want, as long as we're not causin' harm or squashing others' right to their free will, 'cause that way lies unhappy mechs. In fact, I suspect the religious leaders got it all wrong, and Primus is actually the chaotic god and not the order god."

"This is all very fascinating, but what does it have to do with covert ops?"

"It has ta do with covert ops because a good op will find the rhythm in the chaos and flow with it. And once you're flowing, you can handle pretty fraggin' much anything. Which is good, 'cause sometimes it means playing the part of the monster well enough ta fool the real ones. The better ops can even think like the monsters." It was a good explanation, Prowl decided, but he certainly hadn't missed the guilt that flashed across Jazz's EM when he talked about pretending to be and thinking like monsters.

"You're not a monster," Prowl insisted.

"Ha! Nice a ya ta say that considerin' I spent the better part a two cycles beatin' ya, but you should know me better before making those kinda statements." Prowl just stared at Jazz silently. Jazz looked away first.

"Blaster should be up now," Jazz said, standing. "He and Tel are gonna test your hacking and coding skills."

"What about you?"

"I've got work ta do. You didn't think runnin' this place is all I do, didja?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

There had been a minor Decepticon presence in Polyhex ever since it had become a border territory. Getting in was the trick, although if you made friends with the smartest one or the craziest one, you were usually in. Often, those were the same mech. In this particular troop, the smartest one was leading and Gimlet liked anyone smart enough to shut up and obey his orders. From there, the hardest part was keeping himself from falling in too deep.

"Hey, Sounds!" the guard called out cheerfully.

"Heya, Ray. Anythin' goin' on?" Jazz greeted him.

"They've got a new toy in the rec room. I'm looking forward to having a turn myself once I'm off duty."

"Heh. Sounds like fun. See ya there."

"Looking forward to it," Stingray replied with a wave before something occurred to him. "Oh, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"The crazy one's back too. Watch out for him."

"Will do," Jazz replied, waving back as he entered the supposedly abandoned building on the edge of Polyhex. Wandering the empty halls, Jazz wondered who could possibly be crazier than Cleave, who hadn't left as far as Jazz knew. He supposed he'd find out soon enough.

As Jazz neared the rec room, he heard the screams and realized what exactly the new toy was. Schooling his ferro-fluid face mask and EM to hide his disgust, Jazz entered the room. It was a good-sized room - most rec rooms were - and it looked like all the Decepticons in the area were here excluding Stingray out on duty and Gimlet, who was no doubt some place close. Despite the small crowd, they hung to the edge of the room to give the three in the middle plenty of space. Jazz felt his spark recoil and sink as he saw the Collector caught between Cudgel and Cleave, and he had no doubt that it was a Collector. While he couldn't see the blue sun symbol, he could see the filigree on the gold-colored armor that was still intact on the bot and it was obvious to any watcher that the mech had the standard Collector-build interfacing system; two valve ports, one fore and one aft, with a single spike housing located between the two to allow easy access forward or backward. The spike was still housed, showing how very much the Collector was not enjoying his current predicament.

Cudgel was on his back on the floor, the Collector laying on him as Cudgel held his captive's arms. Cudgel's spike was not only fully extended, but was already buried in the Collector's aft valve. The much larger Cleave was holding onto one of the Collector's legs and had started to sink his own spike into the fore valve, only to be held up by the fact the Collector's valve was too short for his full length. In retaliation, Cleave had ripped open the Collector's front from spark chamber to abdomen which had no doubt been the source of the pained cries Jazz had heard before entering. The Collector was still alive, if in considerable pain, and he kept whimpering as Cleave rooted through his abdomen.

"What's this?" Cleave suddenly asked, tapping a claw against something in the Collector's abdomen.

"It's, Ah! It's a transmech fluid reservoir. It's… *hiss* ….purpose is to collect the fluid so information can be retrieved from it," the Collector responded through his pain.

"Information from transmech fluid?" Cudgel, not the brightest mech in the universe anyway, asked.

"You'd be surprised," the Collector muttered darkly.

"It's in my way," Cleave stated. The Collector screamed as Cleave ripped out the part before crushing it in his claws and tossing it away and then sunk his spike fully into the Collector's valve. Jazz felt his optics flicker to the crumpled, useless part as it hit the floor before he looked back at the three in the middle of the floor. He didn't particularly want to look but the scene was so horrific he couldn't bring himself to do so for more than a nanobreem. Every time he did look away, the noises the three made - like the Collector's whimpers as Cleave playfully dragged his claws over the Collector's spark chamber - dragged his optics back like they were iron filament and the scene was a magnet. The worst part was knowing he'd be expected to join in sooner or later. He could probably put it off for a little while - and make a few of the 'Cons happier with him - by allowing a few others first dibs but he wouldn't be able to put it off too long without arousing suspicion. He also hoped the Collector could survive being gang-raped and tortured by the 'Cons long enough for Jazz to figure out a way to save him.

"Hey, Sounds, I've got an idea," the mech who'd come up beside him suddenly said. Glad for an excuse to turn away from the horrible sight, Jazz turned to give the mech a grin, only for the grin to freeze when he realized it was Bladelock. Bladelock had a thing for Jazz that he'd never bothered hiding, despite Jazz constantly spurning him. Even now, Bladelock was giving Jazz a smile as he grabbed the slightly smaller mech's hips and brought them into contact with his own.

"Think about this; you spiking our new toy while I'm buried in your port," Bladelock said with a hum as his fingers trailed from Jazz's hip to the protective paneling between Jazz's legs. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

Jazz shoved him away, haughtily saying, "You're dirty talk's gettin' better but ya still don't have the struts ta back ya up. The answer's no." Bladelock grinned.

"One of these days you'll say yes, Sounds, and once you do, I guarantee you'll keep saying yes over and over and over," Bladelock said, punctuating the word "over" with some sharp thrusts of his hips so it wasn't really innuendo any longer because you'd have to be completely unaware of interfacing to miss the meaning. Several of the 'Cons chuckled or cheered.

"Yeah! Say yes! We'd love a second floor show."

"Nah. He ain't good enough for ya, Sounds."

"Yeah, make him beg for it!"

"Not gonna happen," Jazz said, turning away. As he was disengaging Bladelock, Jazz noticed a swell of silence was spreading from the door. When it reached the two taking their turn, they paused and even the Collector's cries of pain died down. It wasn't until the small green mech stepped out into the space the 'Cons had left for their fun that Jazz realized he was the one causing the uneasy silence.

"If you, uh, want a turn, you'll have to wait for us to finish," Cudgel said, punctuating his words with a snap of his hips that made the Collector squeal in pain. The little green mech's hand shot out, pressing against the Collector's chassis right over the spark chamber. The Collector stilled in fright, no doubt very aware that there was no armor protecting his spark chamber.

"Info-bot too loud. Wasp can't hear ourselves think," the little green mech stated darkly.

Jazz hadn't even realized there was a blade until the little green bot had already stuck it into the Collector's spark chamber. The Collector's EM expressed shock and then pure relief before his spark sputtered out of existence. Cudgel and Cleave were cursing and trying to disconnect from the dead mech while the audience of 'Cons expressed a combination of disbelief and anger. Jazz felt both shocked at the little mech's actions and anger at them. He could have save that Collector if given enough time! Even as he thought that, however, a logical portion of his processors that sounded oddly like Prowl broke through the anger to point out how extremely unlikely it was that he could have successfully saved the poor victim before he was off-lined by someone or off-lined himself in desperation.

"Frag it, Wasp! Why the frag did you do that?" Torque yelled at the little mech from the sidelines.

"Maybe he wants to take our toy's place?" Cleave suggested with a nasty smile, spike still out and dripping with the Collector's lubricant. He reached out and grabbed Wasp, tilting up the small mech's chin. Jazz froze and noticed that, oddly enough, everyone else was doing the same even as Wasp's EM fluctuated oddly. Then Wasp stepped firmly into Cleave's personal space.

"Sharp-bot wants Wasp? We bet Sharp-bot will scream beautifully," Wasp practically purred even as Cleave made a pained noise, EM flinching, before Cleave stepped back quickly and pushed Wasp away. As soon as they were separated, Jazz could see the blades on Wasp's wrists and the fluids flowing from the carvings right over Cleave's spark chamber and just above his interfacing equipment. Well, that was an efficient way to get a mech to back off, Jazz decided.

"Aw, Sharp-bot doesn't want to play with Wasp?" Wasp asked with a pout before he grinned wickedly and looked at his audience.

"Anyone else want to play with us? How about new-bot?"

Jazz froze when he realized Wasp was looking directly at him and then he fell back on old habits.

"Nah, I'm not interested in that kinda kinky stuff wi' a mech I just met." He made the put down as gentle as possible and followed it by some heavy flirting. "Tell ya what, though. Ya hang out wi' me, maybe down at my club, an' we'll see what happens."

Wasp paused for several nanobreems before finally saying, "Maybe." Then Wasp stalked away, mechs moving out of his path.

"Slag, Sounds, you are playing with explosives," Bladelock stated, impressed, once Wasp had left.

"Explosives are fun," Jazz replied with a lazy smile and a shrug of his EM.

"Sounds." At the sound of his nickname, Jazz looked over to the entryway to see the large, reddish-brown mech standing there.

"Yeah, boss?" Jazz asked him.

"Follow me," Gimlet ordered before he turned his bulk to leave the rec room.

"See ya mechs later, 'kay?" Jazz told the gathered Decepticons cheerfully before he sauntered after Gimlet. He caught up to large, lumbering mech in the hall and fell in step beside the troop's leader as they walked away from the rec room.

"I wasn't certain I was making the right decision about you, but then I saw how easily you handled Wasp," Gimlet began once they were out of hearing range of the others.

"It wasn't that hard. I was kinda surprised no one else tried," Jazz replied truthfully.

"That's 'cause they're scared of him," Gimlet sneered. "He's fast, well-trained, small enough to be hard to grab, and crazy enough to do things most mechs wouldn't even consider."

"But a group of us could take him down," Jazz said, EM expressing his confusion. He'd never thought he'd see the day when a bot that small would scare a roomful of ruthless and much bigger Decepticons.

"Oh, yes. No problem except for a dead mech or two, and no one wants to be the dead mech," Gimlet replied. "I've seen Wasp in that mood before. We're lucky that pleasure-bot's the only one dead."

"Well, killing is a time-honored tradition a rising up in the ranks," Jazz observed. Gimlet chuckled darkly.

"Yes, it is, but this mech doesn't care about rank. He doesn't even care who he kills as long as someone's dead."

"So why are you puttin' up with him?" Jazz asked.

"He's useful. Not a lot of mechs are willing to walking into the middle of a crowd of Autobots so they can kill just one."

Jazz found himself smirking at the irony of that statement. "Yeah, I can see that."

"At any rate, I'm naming you my second," Gimlet said. Jazz halted in his shock.

"What? But… really? That's great! But what about the club?"

"You're still in charge of the club. We need the recruits it's bringing us. But you only answer to me now, and if I'm not around, Wasp is your responsibility."

"Yes, sir!"

"Oh, and by the way, I'm trusting you not to follow up on that joke of yours about how to rise up in the ranks," Gimlet warned mildly. Jazz's EM flushed for a moment.

"Oh, no. 'Course not. I'm probably the one a risk a that."

"Not after what happened back there. The troops won't risk losing the mech who can handle Wasp."

"Huh."

"Now tell me how things are going at the club. I heard you had another Enforcer stop by."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

Jazz stumbled into the club feeling utterly drained, physically and emotionally. He'd still managed to invite a few newbies for tonight so he could keep an eye on the city's pulse. Tel was snoozing, EM held close but flickering as he defragged, and Jazz was pouring himself some of the extra-special-grade when Blaster came into the office.

"Go easy on that stuff, Jazz-man," Blaster suggested, EM roiling in concern.

"Can't. Don't have time," Jazz replied as he downed the small cube all at once. It didn't taste good, but that wasn't why he was drinking it. As soon as the super-refined energon hit his system, several programs that had shut down in preparation for recharge woke up with a vengeance in response to the energy surge. No longer tired, Jazz pushed aside the warning that he needed to defrag. "No time to recharge if I'm gonna get this place ready in time for tonight."

Blaster came up behind him, draping one arm over Jazz's shoulder while the other settled on Jazz's hip.

"Show me?" he whispered into Jazz's audio. A shiver ran through Jazz's systems and out through his EM, partially from the pleasure he knew from first-hand experience the other could provide but mostly from the memory Blaster was asking for. He didn't really want Blaster to see what had happened to the Collector who could very well have been an old friend.

"Where's our student?" Jazz asked, trying to change the subject.

"I'm here." Jazz smiled as he kept himself from flinching at Prowl's sudden arrival, although Blaster didn't. The orange bot quickly took a step back from Jazz. Teletraan, no doubt feeling his partner's surprise, started booting up out of recharge.

"Yer getting better at those sneaking exercises Tel gave ya," Blaster stated, probably more for the newly awakened Tel's benefit than anything else.

"Those are always fun," Jazz said with a grin, "Amazin' the things ya find out when mechs don't know you're there."

"Indeed," Prowl agreed as he looked from Jazz to Blaster and back. "I was unaware you were together."

"We're not," Jazz replied.

"Me and Tel are the bonded ones. What me and Jazz do is for recreation and information," Blaster added.

"A pity you were unable to get started. Your pleasure is much more pleasant to wake up to," Teletraan stated, EM stretching out towards his partner as it uncoiled from it's slumbering state. Jazz noted in approval that Blaster's tension wires finally relaxed as his and Tel's EMs meshed. Blaster was a superb hacker, but was just a tad too jumpy to make an efficient infiltrator, assuming he would be willingly separated from Teletraan who was, quite frankly, horrible at hiding.

"Anyway, if you're ready?" Blaster offered.

"Not this time, Blast. I'd rather say it than share it."

"Ya sure?"

"Yeah."

Blaster winced. "That bad, huh?"

"What's that bad?" Prowl asked, body stiff but EM expressing his concern even as Teletraan finished perking up from his recharge.

"Jazz has got the local 'Cons convinced he's one of 'em," Blaster replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah, so much so that Gimlet's officially designating me his second tomorrow," Jazz replied with a bitter laugh.

"That's good news," Blaster said, EM expressing happiness and confusion.

"Only if ya don't know why," Jazz said. "Apparently he wants me there 'cause I can handle the new crazy. By the way, Tel, look up a 'Con called Wasp, will ya?"

"New crazy?" Prowl asked with a slight frown.

"The two 'Cons ya have ta keep the closest optic on in any troop are the smart one and the crazy one," Jazz replied.

"So is the newbie worse than Cleave?" Blaster asked.

"Way worse. He scares Cleave an' everyone else."

"How did you handle him?" Tel asked even as images pulled up on his screen.

"I surprised him, I guess," Jazz replied with a shrug of his EM.

"Good. Keep him confused. It might be the only way to survive," Tel replied.

"What makes you say that?" Prowl asked.

"See for yourself," Tel suggested, pulling up an official Autobot file. Prowl paused.

"You hacked our database?"

"Heh, yeah. Remind me ta show ya how ta plug your leaks 'fore ya go," Blaster stated cheerfully. Prowl made a non-committal noise as he scanned the file. He frowned and murmured, "I wasn't aware that was possible."

"What?" Jazz asked as he leaned against Prowl's back and read over his shoulder just so he could feel the other's EM respond to his proximity. It mostly felt like irritation like always, but underneath, as if he were trying to desperately keep it hidden, was a smidgeon of desire that just made Jazz grin and want to pull it out so it colored the whole of Prowl's EM. Blaster, he knew, was giving him one of those looks that said he knew precisely what Jazz was thinking of doing.

"Here," Prowl said, pointing as he tried to shrug Jazz off. Jazz managed to keep his position as he read where Prowl pointed, although he planned a more thorough perusal later. He quickly saw what had caught Prowl's attention.

"A sparked drone? That is odd." It did, however, explain Tel's advice and a few things he'd observed about Wasp. Apparently it was a side effect of a serious processor glitch. Jazz was also observing that the longer he remained in light contact with Prowl, the less irritated he was and the more visible that small spark of desire became. Experimentally, Jazz gently rubbed his thumb over the chest panel it had ended up against and was rewarded by a sudden spike of desire in the other's closely held EM.

"If ya two are done flirting, we do have a club to get ready," Blaster drawled in good humor. Prowl sharply jerked away, leaving Jazz mildly irked at having lost the small victory he'd gained.

"You'll need ta leave unless ya wanna be stuck in here while the club's open," Jazz told Prowl. Prowl gratefully took the opportunity to flee, leaving Jazz staring wistfully after him.

"You like him. Like, really like him," Blaster observed with a growing smile.

"Me? Nah. He's stiff, boring, unimaginative…"

"A challenge, and you've never been good at resisting challenges for as long as I've known ya."

"Ya haven't known me that long, Blast," Jazz chided.

"Nevertheless, I'm inclined to agree with my partner. You do seem determined to draw a pleasurable reaction out of him," Teletraan added.

"An' now you two are ganging up on me," Jazz complained good-naturedly. "Time for a subject change."

"Fine. What else happened that you don't want to show me it?" Blaster asked. Jazz grimaced.

"Just had ta ask that, didn't ya? The 'Cons caught a Collector."

"Aw, man. No wonder ya didn't wanna share. Didja have ta, you know, join in?"

"No, actually. I hadn't been there for five breems before Wasp wandered up to where Cleave, Cudgel, an' the Collector all were, complained they was bein' too loud, and stuck an energy blade inta the Collector's spark."

Blaster winced and both his and Tel's EMs flinched. There was silence for a long nanobreem before Blaster thoughtfully said, "Well, I suppose that's a better way ta go than the other way."

"Yeah," Jazz agreed, feeling guilty for his earlier anger.

"Still, just walking up and killing someone?" Tel added, sounding concerned.

"Ya sure you can handle this mech, Jazz-man?"

"Just gotta do what Tel's already suggested; keep him confused with things that ain't in his programming."

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

No one was dancing yet. Most mechs didn't know what it was, considering music - or the art form involving sound for the sake of sound, as they called it - was assumed to be a rare specialty art. Functional art, like architecture or sculpture that could double as furniture, was much more popular and the artist was more likely to be paid for zir work. Jazz's mentor had adored music however; literally couldn't imagine a life without it. He'd created several of the pieces Tel and Blaster had collected. He'd also made sure Jazz had a proper appreciation for the art, even if Jazz's skills had lay in moving to it rather than creating it.

Just because it was new to them didn't mean the crowd didn't appreciate the rare art form when they heard it. A few mechs were moving their EMs in time to it or tapping fingers on their tables. Jazz decided he'd let the song end and then do a demo dance for them. After that, a few overcharged ones would gather some courage and move to the groove and Jazz could just weave through the crowd and catch conversations. A piece here, a tidbit there, the info all added up. He wasn't expecting the minibot, which is why he ran into him.

"Oh, man, I am so sorry," Jazz apologized as the little bot froze, unprocessed high-grade energon all down his front. A cleaning drone came to take care of the mess on the floor even as Jazz unsubspaced a clean rag and starting mopping up the fuel from the little mech's front, crouching so he could reach better. "I'll getcha a new cube, on me, 'kay?"

"Um, thank you. I… can clean myself. You don't have to," the minibot replied softly, EM fluctuating between shock, anger, embarrassment, and determined politeness.

"Okay," Jazz said, handing the minibot the cloth. "Come on, let's got outta the cleaner's way and getcha that new cube."

Once Jazz had the minibot seated at the bar, he looked the little mech over. There was no symbol - most Neutrals didn't wear one even now - but it would've been hard to see one anyway as the bot was the same shade of blue as the Collective's symbol with a nicely contrasting silver trim.

"I'm Jazz," he offered with a friendly smile and mid-wave EM after his employee brought over a cube for each of them.

"Oh, um, I'm Moth. You know, like the nocturnal organic insect with the big wings. It's kind of a stupid name," the minibot replied, shy and embarrassed even as he indicated his small wing-like sensors attached at the top of his back. Prowl's were much larger, Jazz noted, but then Prowl had the frame to support them, unlike this minibot.

"It's cute," Jazz said with a smile. Moth's EM flushed and wriggled.

"Um, thanks. I, uh, was hoping to run into you - well, not _literally_ - but I wanted to thank you for inviting me," Moth said, rushing the last bit.

"You're welcome," Jazz replied easily even as he tried remembering when he'd invited the bot. He was drawing a blank, but then he'd been so out of it on the way back from the 'Con's little 'secret' base that he couldn't really remember anyone he'd invited beyond that he had invited someone. If he'd invited the minibot, it was because the shy and polite little thing was obviously in need of loosening up.

"Find the place okay?"

"Yes, and now I've found you and I… I'm not sure what to do next," Moth admitted with his voice and EM both curling in an endearing combination of wry and shy. Jazz could certainly think of a few things the minibot could do, especially considering the appraising looks several mechs were giving him because sweet little Moth was actually rather pretty. Jazz came to a decision.

"Have ya ever danced before?" Jazz asked. Moth paused, EM and all, before he frowned and shook his head.

"It's easy. Ya just move to the groove. Come on," Jazz insisted as he stood and offered the minibot his hand. Moth hesitated before taking it. Jazz led Moth through the crowd, looking back often to make sure he wasn't forcing the smaller mech to jog to keep up. Then they broke past the bots milling on the edge of the dance floor as if afraid to enter the space.

"Hey, Blast! Play somethin' with a good beat!"

:First Prowl, now this minibot? Ya need ta slow down on your flirting, Jazz-man,: Blaster sent good-naturedly over an encrypted comm. before he started a new song.

"What do I do?" Moth asked over the opening of the song.

"Just move to it!" Jazz replied as he matched action to words.

"How?"

"However you want! Listen to it. Can ya feel it flowing? Flow with it!"

Moth watched him with a slight frown before he started to move. Most bots stuck to swaying with the beat, so Jazz was pleasantly surprised when Moth started imitating him perfectly.

"That's it!" he crowed. "Just have fun!"

Moth's EM furrowed in concentration as Jazz added in a new move and then he smiled a brilliant smile in triumph when he achieved the move as well. Fascinated, Jazz slowly made the moves harder, utterly pleased when Moth kept up with him and threw in a move of his own. Jazz performed a chain of moves, surprised Moth by swinging him, finished the chain and then started it over. Moth had been thrown off by the swing but quickly recovered. When he was swung a second time, he was prepared and let out a peal of laughter that was impossible not to smile at, it was so infectious.

"Go high when I go low," Jazz said as he swung Moth again. Moth nodded.

They were right next to each other, face to face, when Jazz went to his knees. He felt Moth's hands plant on his shoulders even as he saw the minibot's feet leave the floor. As he felt the weight leave his shoulders even as he heard the other's feet come down behind him, Jazz twisted up as quick and as smooth as he'd gone down, facing Moth before posing to the last beats of the song. Moth had also turned only freeze as Jazz did, albeit not in as impressive a position. Then came the stamps of applause and shouts of approval. Moth's EM blushed as he hid behind Jazz, shy once again.

"Thank you! Now get on out here an' dance, folks! An' don't worry if ya don't know how; the mech next ta ya don't know how either." That earned Jazz some laughter before mechs started moving into the relatively empty dance floor. Jazz chuckled and grinned as he led Moth back to the bar, giving a signal to his bartender for two more cubes.

"That was great! I oughta hire ya ta dance for the club."

"You can't be serious," Moth protested.

"You got some natural, spark-deep talent, my mech. Most bots can't flow as well as you just did."

"Oh, I… I think I'd prefer not to be noticed," Moth murmured as he accepted the cube the bartender pushed his way.

"Underestimation, huh? Useful thing, that. Most bots can't pull it off, though," Jazz said more to himself than to anyone listening. Moth gave him a curious frown. Jazz grinned widely at him.

"Did I tell ya I invented movin' to the groove?"

"Now you're really pulling one on me," Moth insisted with a pleasant smile.

"Nah, I'm serious. Officially it's the invention of a mech called Starshield, but Star himself tol' me got the idea by watchin' me movin' ta my mentor's art. My mentor created the piece we're listenin' to now, ya know?"

"I didn't know," Moth said before falling silent, absorbing the sound around them. Then he said, "He's very talented."

"Was. Gone now."

"Oh, I'm sorry. The war?"

"Nah, it was a few vorns before the war started. He was practically an Ancient when he suddenly decided he wanted ta be a mentor, was an Ancient by the time he passed. I think he'd planned on passing on what he knew. 'Course, I didn't have the talent he needed so he passed it on ta Starshield, but he was always proud a me and made sure I knew it. I still had him fer nearly two megavorns, though. His death was big news for all of a joor before it got pushed aside by the Prime naming some hot shot kid not even a megavorn old as his new Security Director. But that's history now."

"Do you miss him?" Moth asked quietly.

"Yeah, but I know he's happy in the Well of Sparks and I'll be wi' him again eventually. Fer now, I got a life ta live. Heh. Don't even know why I tol' ya all that. I guess yer just easy ta talk to."

Moth smiled at him happily, prompting Jazz to say, "Anyone ever tell ya that ya got a gorgeous grin?"

Moth looked startled and shook his head. "No, never."

"I find that hard ta believe. Next you'll be tellin' me ya never 'faced before."

"I've interfaced with mechs before," Moth stated matter-of-factly.

"Then none o' them's been flirtin' wi' ya right," Jazz insisted. Moth found that funny as evidenced by his bright peal of laughter.

"No, I suppose not," he admitted, EM bright and wide with mirth, before he took another sip from his cube.

"Ya know, I neva asked what ya think about this war goin' on," Jazz said cautiously. Moth's EM shortened and shadowed.

"I… wish it would end."

"So ya don't like either side, huh?"

"I hate the Decepticons," Moth whispered under the noise of the club. "They claim to be for the good of the world, but they're not. They just want what's best for them. The Autobots don't claim to be what's best. They just want to protect everyone who will let them, but they're not soldiers. That's why they're losing. And the Collective just sits by and does nothing even as they lose more and more and they punish anyone who tries to change that."

Jazz was silent for a long nanobreem before he quietly admitted, "Now I really wanna recruit ya."

"I can't dance for you," Moth denied with a gentle smile. Jazz leaned in and whispered, "What about spying for me?"

Moth's EM froze, prompting Jazz to hurriedly add, "There's a group of us that tries ta get info to the A-bots so they can help those who need it most. So they can actually stand up ta the 'Cons. What do ya say? Wanna join us?"

"Why me?" Moth murmured.

"The way ya flowed on the dance floor; I ain't never seen a bot adapt that fast. Only the best adapt to their situations like that. I'll teach ya anything else ya need ta know."

"Yes." The answer was firm, EM determined. Jazz smiled at him.

"Atta mech. Come back early tomorrow." Moth nodded before he moved off, looking thoughtful. Jazz watched him go and was pleasantly surprised when the minibot paused, turned, and gave him a wide smile before he pushed his way through the crowd.

:Got us another trainee, Blast.:

:The mini?: Blaster sent back.

:Yep.:

:Ha! Knew it. I recognized your recruiting look.:

:What recruiting look?: Jazz asked innocently, prompting Blaster to snicker over the encrypted line. :Besides, it'll be good for our other trainee ta have some competition.:

:That'll depend on what they're competing for,: Blaster observed dryly. :'Cause I don't think Prowl's the type that does jealousy well.:

:He'll deal,: Jazz replied firmly, ignoring Blaster's innuendo, :'cause I ain't lettin' potential like that just walk away.:

~*~*~*~*~*~

* * *

A/N: Yes, more OCs. I hope you'll forgive me for them once you realize what I have planned for them. Also, many thanks for the story alerts and wonderful reviews. :)


	7. Part 2: Chapter 4

Warnings: Sexual assault this chapter. Also death (again). Further warnings and disclaimers in Part 1, Chapter 1.

* * *

_Chapter 4_

When Prowl arrived early the next solar cycle, he was surprised Jazz wasn't waiting. He looked around blankly for a long nanobreem before Teletraan contacted him over an encrypted line.

:They are both still in recharge, although Jazz will probably wake first. Until then, would you like to come up and keep me company?:

:Very well.:

The door leading to the back opened, proving Teletraan had control of more than just the club's video cameras. Prowl headed through the door and on up the ramp until he came to the office where Teletraan was sitting patiently.

"Hello, Teletraan."

"Hello, Prowl. It is good to see you again. Would you be interested in perusing my databanks?"

"You must be very bored," Prowl stated, not bothering to hide the surprise in his EM at Teletraan's somewhat forward offer. Teletraan's EM flushed when he realized how Prowl had taken his proposal.

"I did not mean a hardline connection. You're not built to perform one with me anyway, as your medical records indicate you are incapable of performing a two-way connection with just your spike."

"You have my medical records?" Prowl asked with a sharp frown.

"Yes, here." Teletraan brought them up on his screen. Prowl looked at them, recognizing every medic he'd ever seen since he was a sparkling and their work notes, with the most recent being in Ratchet's terse yet practical script.

"You are thorough on your background checks, aren't you," Prowl noted.

"When it is possible to be," Teletraan agreed. Prowl fell silent for a bit.

"What did you mean, I wasn't built to connect with you?" he asked.

"I suspect it was a way for them to keep control of Collectables like me," Teletraan stated sadly.

"How so?"

"I didn't choose my form, you know? Why would I when it means I can't dance with Blaster or hold him in my arms? I can't move at all without outside assistance. I am lucky that when the Collective partnered me with Blaster that he could see past that."

"You were forcibly bonded?" Prowl asked sharply.

"No. Blaster and I chose that on our own, much to the Collective's displeasure. We were only supposed to express interest in bonding to the Collective itself, not to each other. Our devotion to each other was why we were never given a higher rank, but I do not regret that as our lesser ranking is what allowed us to leave."

"So the Collective chose your form," Prowl stated, focusing on something else Teletraan had said, not yet wanting to get into the details of Collector-style bonding.

"They chose both mine and Blaster's forms. He's a specialty-build as well, although his is not as noticeable as mine. He was designed to connect only with Collectables. He's found ways around that. But he's also essentially a comm. array himself. It's why he's so very good at hacking." Teletraan brought up Blaster's medical records as he said that. Prowl observed with curiosity and a sense of awe exactly how Blaster had been built. He really was walking a comm. array. Every nanoclick of space had been used efficiently and there was even a level of subspacing built in so Blaster could readily convert from his mobile mode to a stationary array. This set up boosted and enhanced his signal that he could easily comm. someone from much further away that your average mech.

"Impressive," Prowl conceded, "But why did you let them chose your frames?"

"We were sparklings. And the Collective used the excuse that it was historical. To be fair, there is some accuracy in that. The first Collectables were mechs who would literally shut down everything not necessary for survival in order to free more room in their databanks for new information. Once they hit a certain point, they'd then starve to death. It wasn't until one was bonded with another before reaching that point that our ancestors realized what they were doing and why many of their smartest mechs would just suddenly shut down and refuse to move. That Collectable's bonded took care of him and would perform hardline connections to access his databanks so he could answer questions from mechs wanting information. Then a young mech brought zir mentor to them one day and begged them to bond with said mentor, who had also fallen into the non-mobile state. They got permission from the mentor, it doesn't say how, but zie apparently leapt at the chance to be bonded to someone who understood zir desire for knowledge. It was the beginning of the Collective and the Collective bond."

"Fascinating."

"Yes, but the Collective used it as an excuse to make the Collectables and the Communicators dependent upon each other. We were encouraged to use one another."

"Use each other? In what way?"

"The Communicators were expected to leave all higher levels of processing to the Collectables."

"You were supposed to think for them?" Prowl asked, startled by the implications.

"Yes. Most Collectables, having no control over their own bodies, leapt at the chance to control something. The fact that the Communicator was to take care of their physical needs just helped. The idea, of course, was to prevent the more mobile Communicators from functioning properly away from the Collective, although I know at least one other than Blaster managed to retain a level of independence. He's a Decepticon now by the designation of Soundwave."

"But you didn't make Blaster dependent on you," Prowl said even as he mentally noted the information on Soundwave.

"No. I thought it was cruel to remove a mech's autonomy like that and refused to do that to a Communicator, even when they offered. Blaster in the meantime also refused to cooperate. We were put together as a last ditch effort of compliance before they purposely underclocked Blaster's processors to the point that he'd _have_ to become dependent on his partner. Knowing that, we teamed together to pretend we were complying. Then, as we came to know each other better, we became more than partners." Teletraan's voice turned soft at the last part and EM went from righteous anger to fondness.

"I am happy for you," Prowl said truthfully. To have found true love in such a situation seemed a remarkable feat.

"Thank you."

Silence reigned for nearly a breem before Prowl tentatively asked, "…I don't suppose there might be information in your databanks that could help lead to our mysterious ghost?"

"It is a possibility. I have exhausted all of the search avenues I could come up with, but if you could come up with more, I'd be willing to look. Oh, before I forget, you might want to view this." A video started playing on Teletraan's screen.

"What is it?" Prowl asked as he stared at the video. It was of the club at night. The sound on the video wasn't so loud that Prowl felt he had to protect his sensors, which meant it came across as rather enjoyable. And onscreen, Jazz and a minibot were moving to it with a grace that awed Prowl.

"The minibot is calling himself Moth. Jazz recruited him last night after this, so he'll be joining us for the training," Teletraan explained. Prowl frowned at that.

"Why?" he asked.

"Look closer at Moth. See his EM? And the way he hesitates right there? He's never done that before. Yet he's keeping up with Jazz except where it's not practical for him to do so, at which point he does his own thing. And the end result?"

"It's… beautiful," Prowl allowed.

"This is what Jazz and Blaster mean when they speak of flowing."

"This is what Jazz is trying to teach me?" Prowl asked incredulously.

"No. It is a spark-deep talent. We hope to give you enough skills to make up for that lack. Here." A second video came up next to the dancers and Prowl found himself watching him and Jazz in their sparring session from earlier. Jazz's moves were similar in both videos as in both he was moving with graceful precision and efficient purpose. In comparison, Prowl had looked like he'd been randomly flailing. It was like watching the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object, although Jazz had kept proving that Prowl was far from immovable. Even as he watched, Jazz brought him down in the video of the spar while in the video of the dance the minibot had gone over Jazz in a sort of flip.

"He… they're improvising on the fly," Prowl realized even as he knew he could never do the same. Even before he'd gotten the battle computer installed, his nature had been to wait until he knew all the data before making a decision. It had made him a very good Security Director, but what they were asking him to do was make decisions on the fly with only partial knowledge and come out on top in spite of that.

"Yes," Teletraan agreed.

"What if he makes the wrong decision?" Prowl asked.

"Then he deals with the consequences."

"And if he can't?"

"Then he'll die."

* * *

"What are you doing, Tel?" Jazz asked as he entered the office and grabbed some plain high grade from the lower shelf.

"Running some search parameters for Prowl. He's downstairs waiting, by the way."

"Moth here yet?"

"My sensors say he's approaching the building."

"Then Prowl can wait a bit. Still got that info on Wasp?"

"Yes. Here," Teletraan said, pulling up the relevant files onto his screen.

"Read it to me?" Jazz asked as he started to down some energon.

"Very well. The Autobot's first records of him date back seven vorns ago when he tried and failed to assassinate Ultra Magnus. He's been spotted only a few times since, usually dealing death. Based on the marks on the bodies, it's also believed he's behind the deaths of two scouts five vorns ago and Axiom here recently."

"Not a lot," Jazz observed.

"No. The Decepticon records we've managed to hack were more informative. First records of Wasp are from eight vorns ago. Apparently he just showed up one solar cycle, a fully trained assassin. The troop he was with praised his skills, but refused to have anything more to do with him after he murdered three of them. After that, he's mostly just wandered from troop to troop, staying as long as they'll let him and always leaving a trail of bodies behind him."

"That's it?"

"The Autobot file has some speculative psychology on him. They think he might be suffering from Disassociative Identity Disorder."

"The sparked drone thing."

"Yes."

"Anything from earlier than eight vorns ago? Like before the war?"

"No, nothing. The Decepticons apparently thought it was suspicious and tried to find out where he'd been trained, considering it's their style he's using, but the Autobots' failed attack on Vos twelve vorns back scrambled or destroyed many of their records. They couldn't find anything and Wasp hasn't said anything. Moth's here, by the way."

"Guess I'm gonna be asking Wasp some questions," Jazz muttered before he finished the cube.

* * *

"Um, hello."

Prowl turned around from where he'd been stretching his tension wires on the empty dance floor to take a look at the newcomer. Teletraan had probably let in the pretty blue minibot. Prowl tamped down on the small surge of unfounded anger he felt at the minibot. It wasn't Moth's fault Jazz was an unpredictable fragger.

"Um, Jazz told me to come back now. I'm Moth," the little bot offered nervously.

"Prowl," the Autobot officer curtly stated.

"Uh, nice to meet you?"

"Good! You're both here!" Jazz called out as he appeared. "Prowl, Moth here is gonna train wi' ya." Prowl looked down at the little mech with the nervous EM and shrugged his own EM.

"You are the teacher," he calmly told Jazz. Jazz cocked his head at him, EM hard to read, but apparently decided to let it go.

"We'll start wi' sparrin'. Ya ever take a mech down bare-handed, Moth?" Moth paused at Jazz's question before shaking his head, EM negative but expectant.

"Then Prowl an' I will start. Just watch us, 'kay?" With Moth safely ensconced at a table, Prowl and Jazz took the floor.

"Ready fer me?" Jazz asked with a wicked grin.

"Is that possible?" Prowl asked, EM arching.

"Heh." Then Jazz attacked. Prowl ducked and managed to put the other on the defensive but not for long. As soon as Jazz got the upper hand, Prowl was on the floor.

"Better," Jazz praised as he helped Prowl up, letting his hand linger longer than Prowl felt was appropriate although he'd deny the feeling of loss when Jazz removed it. Then Jazz gestured at Moth.

"Your turn." Prowl stood back as Moth went to stand in front of Jazz, shifting anxiously as he looked up at the larger mech.

"Don't be scared. Just do what ya can ta take me down."

"Shouldn't you teach him how first?" Prowl suggested archly, feeling sorry for the nervous little thing.

"Why? I didn't teach ya those fancy moves ya keep usin'," Jazz said disdainfully before calmly instructing Moth to, "Just go for what feels right."

Moth paused and then nodded. Jazz attacked as soon as he did. To Prowl's surprise, the blow didn't connect because Moth moved beneath it and latched onto Jazz's foot, throwing him off balance. Jazz smiled as he put down a hand to catch his balance and then kicked out with the other foot. It knocked Moth down, who winced at the dents on his chassis and aft.

"Next time, try hangin' on ta my foot an' see if ya can bring me down with ya," Jazz offered along with a hand up, "either that, or move with the blow. 'Cause ya less damage that way."

"I… okay," Moth said, EM and ferrofluid face mask determined.

This time, Jazz attacked low. Moth twisted so he was facing the same direction as Jazz even as he grabbed Jazz's wrist as it went past, pulling it across his chassis and to Jazz's side. He also hooked his foot on Jazz's, causing the large mech to stumble on his forward movement. Jazz retaliated by sweeping Moth's feet out from under him. They both hit the floor with a loud thud and Moth's vents hissed as he rubbed a new dent.

"I don't seem to be doing very well," Moth said ruefully.

"Nonsense!" Jazz insisted. "You're doing better than Prowl. He's a fully-trained soldier and he has yet ta bring me down. I have ta warn ya, though: ya won't find it easy ta do it a second time. Prowl, you're up again."

Prowl had been observing and making mental notes both on the fight and other little details. Moth was a surprisingly quick learner, for one, and Jazz was even more energetic than Prowl had previously believed possible after he had a proper recharge. Still, he took Moth's place, determined to do at least as well as this strange newcomer.

"Ya ready?" Jazz asked, bouncing on his feet a little. Prowl's response was to attack. Jazz's EM briefly registered surprise as he barely blocked the blow before it changed to match his wild grin. His retaliation knocked Prowl off balance, but Prowl grabbed Jazz and twisted so he fell on top of the other where he quickly pinned him.

"Caught you," Prowl stated, smirking even as his EM expressed his triumph.

"Ya caught me, alright," Jazz purred. "Wanna give Moth an' Tel a show?" Prowl shot upright, EM hot with embarrassment. Jazz's laughter just turned the heat to anger.

"You are way too much fun ta tease. Anyway, ya both seem ta get the point. Time for somethin' new."

Moth, who'd been watching with wide optics, raised a hand and asked, "Does it involve interfacing?" The way the minibot's EM was blushing as it fluctuated, it was hard to tell if he wanted the answer to be yes or no. Jazz just laughed.

"Nah. It's time ya met the rest a the crew. Come on."

As they arrived at the office, Prowl observed that an active Teletraan had been joined by a listless Blaster at some point.

"The one standin' upright is Teletraan an' the one leanin' against the wall is Blaster," Jazz rather cheekily introduced them to Moth.

"I'm surprised you're awake," Prowl told Blaster. Blaster cycled his vents in a short snort.

"I'm not, but I can't recharge properly now 'cause of you."

"What did I do?" Prowl asked, defensive in his surprise.

"Ya gave Teletraan new search parameters. He loves searches. Ya know how hard it is ta recharge when your bonded is giddy 'bout something?" Blaster complained.

"Just have some energon, Blast, and get over it," Jazz suggested, giving the other mech a friendly push. Blaster frowned but obeyed.

"What are you searching for?" Moth asked as he approached Teletraan, apparently deeming him safer than the grumpy Blaster. Prowl, in the meantime, closely scrutinized Blaster's actions as Blaster reached for a certain type of energon, poured only a small measure, and downed it.

"I'm helping Prowl with his search for the Ghost of the Autobot Army," Teletraan stated proudly in response to Moth.

"Who?" Moth asked, EM confused.

"AB-1025, little mech," Blaster said, seeming much more awake and cheerful despite only the small amount of energon consumed.

"Why?" Moth asked, EM curling in his dubiousness. Prowl found himself being looked at expectantly by the room's taller occupants.

"Because we need more like zir. If we can figure out how zie gets the information zie gets, then we can train others to do the same. There's also the possibility of recruiting the original."

"But you can't find them?" Moth asked with a small frown.

"No. We only have that rather random string of numbers and letters to go on and haven't had luck thus far," Prowl admitted.

"It's not a serial number?" Moth queried, EM expressing surprise.

"Nah," Blaster said, "Have ya ever seen your serial number? Sparked mech serial numbers are much longer."

"I've also had no luck finding a partial match. Sparked mech serial numbers don't contain a dash so it's uncertain if the AB is supposed to be part of the number or not. Searches for 1025 bring up hundreds of thousands of mechs, offline and on. Adding in the AB, both next to the numbers and not, limits those to a handful but they've all been offline since before this war started," Teletraan added.

"So there nothing it could be?" Moth asked with a frown even as his EM expressed intrigue.

"No _one_," Teletraan stated slowly, thoughtfully, "I don't know about no_thing_. You've given me an idea." Teletraan's active EM suddenly pulled in, giving the impression the large, immobile mech had suddenly hunkered down.

"Great, we're not gonna get anything outta him until he's finished with whatever idea ya gave him," Blaster complained.

"I'm… sorry?" Moth offered weakly as if he wasn't sure he was supposed to be apologizing but EM guilty nonetheless.

"No prob," Jazz insisted. "We'll just find somethin' else ta do."

Their next exercise involved an odd version of hide-and-seek that a now wide awake Blaster joined them for. One would hide with all the stealth he possessed and the rest would search for him. If they found him, they'd join in his hiding spot. Blaster was horrible at the game, much to Prowl's relief, because Jazz was nearly impossible to find (Prowl only noticed him after doing an incredibly thorough scan of every area), Moth was small enough to fit into places Prowl had never considered before, and both had a tendency to contort themselves to fit into odd places. Jazz brought it to a stop when Moth started becoming visually agitated.

"What's wrong?" Jazz asked.

"I have to go soon."

"Job?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'll be working late this solar cycle," Moth replied, EM expressing his regret.

"Don't be. Just tell me what ya learned this-cycle and I'll see ya next-cycle."

"Okay. Um, we worked on fighting earlier and the game was about stealth."

"Yep."

"There's a surprisingly large number of hiding places in such a small yet wide-open area," Prowl added.

"That too. And?"

Moth thought for a moment before tentatively offering, "And the more people hiding, the harder it is to hide them?"

"Precisely. For covert operations, only use the minimum you have ta. That means tools as well as mechs. Ya have too many mechs, and ya ain't exactly covert any more. An' the more tools ya have, the less likely you'll be able ta quickly get what ya need when ya need it."

Prowl nodded. That made sense and was certainly something he'd observed and even practiced when it came to tools. The more you had stuffed away in subspace, the more likely you'd have to rummage to find what you needed. Even Ratchet only carried the minimum necessary of medical equipment when he was on the field and he had to pack it a certain way so that even that much wouldn't get lost or tangled and get in his way when he needed something certain.

"What if you need more?" Moth asked.

"Then find a safe place ta stash it for when ya need it."

Moth nodded and then flashed them a bright smile.

"I'll see you all early next-cycle. It was nice meeting you, Prowl, Blaster. Tell Teletraan goodbye for me."

"So what do you think of him?" Jazz asked after Moth left.

"Oh, there's no attraction there at _all_," Blaster teased before expressing utter delight when both Jazz and Prowl glared at him. Prowl scowled but admitted, "I can see why he caught your attention. He's oddly innocent and such innocence is a rarity in these days."

"You two are impossible," Jazz complained before let his vents loose in a sigh. "Suppose I'd better head for the 'Con base."

* * *

"Sounds! Stop him! He's trying to kill me!" Stingray cried, hiding his larger form behind Jazz's slight bulk. Jazz, who had just walked into the Decepticon's base, paused and then caught Wasp before he could lunge past.

"What happened?" Jazz asked.

"He just came after me!" Stingray told him.

"Why?" Jazz asked sternly.

"I don't know!" Stingray wailed. Wasp just snarled and tried to twist out of Jazz's grip, forcing Jazz to roughly reinforce it.

"Why'd you attack Ray, Wasp?"

"Wasp not like Sting-bot," the assassin hissed.

"Is that all?" Jazz asked, tone and EM making it clear there better be a better reason that that. Wasp just hissed, making it clear it was the only reason Jazz was going to get.

"Alright, to the brig with ya unless ya can give me a better reason," Jazz warned, forcing Wasp to march in front of him while keeping a very close optic on the assassin. He didn't trust him not to try something. Sure enough, when the got the to brig, Wasp tensed and tried twisting and attacking. Jazz blocked him, vents hissing as the energy blade nicked his arm, but he managed to shove the mech into the brig and turn on the power grid. The second blade hit the energy field and Wasp howled.

"Ya brought this on yourself. Now ya get ta sit there and think 'bout why you're there. If you're good, I'll let ya out before I leave," Jazz told him before he turned and walked away. He meant it, too, because then the insane little thing would be Gimlet's problem and not his. And hopefully Wasp's time in the brig would have an impact. Considering how social Cybertronians were, isolation was normally a highly effective punishment. He'd worry about it later as his arrival in the rec room prompted several cheers to break out.

"What's the occasion?" he asked.

"You're still alive, is why," Turbulence replied, seeker-build bent over to fit at the table he was at.

"Ya really put Wasp in the brig?" Lesion asked from where he was standing by Stingray and Cudgel.

"Yeah. I can't be the first."

"First to try and tell us about it after," Torque muttered.

"Worst he managed was a nick an' my self-repair systems are already takin' care a that," Jazz bragged.

"And that's why I've chosen him to be my second," Gimlet suddenly announced from the doorway. The Decepticons froze when they realized their leader was there, but quickly relaxed and expressed approval at the decision.

"Alright, Sounds. You're moving up in the world!"

"Go, Sounds."

Gimlet held up a hand and silence fell. Once it did, he continued, "Sounds is still in charge of our recruiting which means he'll be at that club a lot. If he and I are both gone, Bladelock's in charge."

Jazz turned to see Bladelock smirk. There were mutters of assent. Bladelock wasn't as well liked as Jazz. Gimlet made sure there were no visible dissenters and nodded.

"Turbulence, Cleave, I have a retrieval mission for you. Follow me."

The seeker and the not-as-crazy-as-Wasp crazy both stood and left. Jazz pondered on the possibility of following them and eavesdropping on the mission. Cleave was too heavy for Turbulence to carry during flight, so it couldn't be too far. The other reason to send Turbulence was because the seeker doubled as their medic, although the mech only really knew basic first aid. That suggested someone they wanted fixed, but the addition of Cleave made it clear Gimlet didn't care if they lived or died although alive would be preferable. The question was, who? Before Jazz could surreptitiously follow, however, Bladelock blocked him.

"Hey, how about an officer's only meeting, huh?"

"Gimlet's a bit busy right now," Jazz pointed out. Bladelock scowled slightly.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what ya meant. Ya just don't know when ta quit," Jazz replied as he pushed past, but the scene reminded the others he was there and he was snagged by Lesion and given a cube while the others congratulated his promotion. Jazz let himself relax and get into the spirit of the thing. He'd find out the who later.

* * *

"Let's see… some shredded armor - you could probably melt it down and reshape it into something usable - a few parts slightly worn but still in excellent condition despite that, a bent and twisted strut - again, you'd have to melt it down but the metal there is rarer and sturdier so it'll cost you more," Swindle was saying into his comm. complete with small, personal array. Personal arrays were rare these days; the Neutrals didn't like the idea of their comm. conversations being hacked and the two armies disliked their soldiers potentially giving away important information. Everyone had a built in comm. these days, of course, but the comm.'s range was severely limited without an array. With an array, or rather a series of arrays reflecting off of one another, one could contact the far side of the planet or one of their moons. Most mechs needing that kind of range went to the larger and securer array stations. Swindle was an odd exception. He didn't really care who overheard his deal making mostly because he believed being hacked to be a sort of free advertising. Some of his best customers, after all, had come to him after eavesdropping on him.

"Are you really selling the parts of your damaged leg? What if I need them to fix you?" Turbulence asked incredulously as he and Cleave strode up to the injured Combaticon even as Gimlet made sure the area was deserted and safe. Swindle had contacted Gimlet asking for a hand, saying only that he'd had a crash outside of Polyhex. Gimlet had struck some sort of bargain with Swindle, what Turbulence didn't know but he suspected it involved weapons, something they'd need if Sounds' recruiting efforts continued to go as well as they seemed to be. They were fixing the Combaticon in exchange. Possibly the Combaticon had bribed Gimlet with promises of credits off or something else Turbulence would never consider a real bribe, considering it still involved the Combaticon getting all the credits.

"Give me a nanobreem, Bolt. I might have just received a better offer," Swindle said into the comm., cutting off an indignant yelp. He then asked Turbulence, "Do you really need all of it?"

"I can't tell until I've had a proper look at that damaged leg of yours," the seeker huffed.

"I can have the parts you don't need, right? Since they're mine to begin with," Swindle wheedled with a charming expression.

"Fine, you can have them. Just don't go selling them until you know what they are," Turbulence agreed sourly.

"Agreed." Then Swindle opened up the comm. line again. "I'll have to get back to you on those parts, Bolt. Someone else is claiming ownership. Bolt, baby, of course I'll call you first. You're my favorite customer. Uh-huh. Hate to cut this short, but I've got to go. Business calls! Say hello to your lovely bonded for me. Bye!"

Turbulence ignored Swindle beyond what was necessary to fix the mech. Cleave, who was looming menacingly nearby, however, wasn't.

"So you're the bot that sells things, huh?" Cleave asked.

"Yep! Need anything? If I have it, I'll sell it to you at a great price and if I don't have it, I'll find it and sell it to you!"

"At a steep price," Turbulence muttered. Swindle ignored him, too busy giving Cleave a you-can-trust-this-smile look. Smart bots knew not to trust that smile.

Cleave leaned in and rumbled threateningly, "How much for your offline chassis?" Swindle, to his surprise, actually thought about it.

"That will depend on whether or not there's a spark transplant involved. I could line up a suicidal mech for a spark switch. Then you could have fun hunting down this form, complete with spark! Of course, it would probably be cheaper to get one of the Insecticons to knock out a cheap drone mock-up of me, but drones tend to be rather limited, especially if you enjoy hearing your victim's terrified screams. Which would you rather have?"

"Uh… how much for the first one?"

"No," Turbulence firmly stated, "You're not buying anything from him, Cleave. And _you_ are not to sell him anything. You will deal with the officer in command of our troop and no one else. Unless you'd like to terminate our deal?" Turbulence added the last bit when it looked like Swindle was about to complain and tweaked a wire he was working on so electricity arced.

"Ow! Fine, I'll work by your rules. Your commander better make it worth my while, though."

* * *

Jazz, to his surprise, didn't have to work to find out who the new mech was because he was invited to the meeting with him. Swindle was disgustingly cheerful for a mech in his position and Bladelock, who'd also been invited to the meeting, was undaunted by Jazz's earlier refusal. The latter put Jazz in a foul mood that he did his best to contain. Gimlet was as stern as ever and had the full force of his glare focused on Swindle.

"I want to make this clear; I don't care what you think we want or need. What we want is trivial right now and what we need is weapons and nothing else."

"Understood," Swindle stated before asking with a smarmy smile, "Exactly how many weapons do you need, my good sir?"

"Five thousand. More if they're not _too_ expensive," Gimlet said meaningfully.

"Whoa, boss. I don't have nearly that number in recruits yet."

"Can you get that many?" Gimlet asked, turning that sharp stare and sharper EM on Jazz. Jazz's EM shifted, the only sign of his unease he let show. Always good to let the boss 'Con think the rank and file were scared of him.

"Yeah, if I've got enough time," he replied slowly. Gimlet turned from Jazz and back to Swindle.

"How long will it take you to get that many weapons?"

"Oh, if I put a special rush on them just for you, Gimlet-baby, about two orns," Swindle stated unctuously.

"That long?" Bladelock asked, giving a short, snort-like sound by quickly venting his systems.

"Hey, quality and quantity take time," Swindle defended with a smile that quickly turned sly as he turned back to Gimlet and purred, "And of course they'll need to be paid for."

"You'll be paid in accordance to our deal. Sounds, send me a copy of the club's finances," Gimlet ordered. Jazz nodded as he did so.

"Even with our deal, you're looking at five hundred thousand credits, minimum, and even with our earlier dealing, I can't go lower," Swindle pointed out. Gimlet's optics brightened as he performed some calculations. Jazz knew they were just short of the five hundred thousand, but they could easily make the rest in two orns time.

"We can pay you two hundred and fifty thousand now, the other half upon delivery," Gimlet finally replied. Swindle's smile brightened.

"Always a pleasure to do business with you, Gimlet-baby. I'll get right on your order."

"Good. You're dismissed, Swindle." Swindle saluted lazily and left.

"No doubt that slaggerd will try hitting us with fees as soon as possible, but for now he's in our debt," Gimlet stated, glaring at the now closed door. Then he told his second and third, "Megatron wants us to move as soon as possible which means getting the weapons as soon as possible. Sounds, you have two orns to get the rest of the credits and to recruit the numbers we need, understand?"

"Yes, boss. Perfectly," Jazz replied. It meant he didn't have a lot of time left.

"Good. You can both go now. I have someone with a discipline problem I need to deal with."

After Jazz, Bladelock, and Gimlet left Gimlet's office and went their separate ways, Jazz dodged Bladelock in the halls and made it to the rec room unscathed. There, he resumed his role as the occupants' buddy just long enough to get an idea of how they felt about Swindle before saying his goodbyes. Before he left, however, he had a promise to fulfill. It was the sounds of a muffled cry followed by sharp, hushed words that made him hurry the last few steps to the brig.

"About time someone put you in a brig, Wasp. Now I can teach you your place," Gimlet was muttering harshly as he struggled with the smaller bot.

Wasp was an excellent fighter, part of why he was so feared and no doubt a good part of why the formidable Gimlet wanted more control over the assassin. It would be quite the coop to be the leader who'd mastered Wasp. Despite the assassin's skills, however, the brig was a very small area, Gimlet's reach was long, and there was only so much you could do with hidden energy blades when your opponent knew they were there. Gimlet had managed to grab Wasp's arms and was in the process of pinning the smaller mech against the wall with his bulk despite Wasp kicking and struggling.

"Some reformatting of your software ought to make you more loyal," Gimlet whispered with an evil, triumphant grin as he switched Wasp's wrists from being held from both hands to one and inserted his free hand between them. Wasp gave an angry shriek and Jazz realized Gimlet meant to rape Wasp's meta as well as his chassis. But in that moment, Jazz wasn't seeing Wasp about to be raped by Gimlet; he was seeing Moth. By the time logic reasserted itself by pointing out that while Moth and Wasp were the same size and had similar builds they had vastly dissimilar personalities as well as different voices and color schemes, Jazz had already moved to stop Gimlet.

"Sounds? What-?"

Gimlet never finished the query because Jazz had inadvertently given Wasp the leeway he needed. The first stab was deadly but Wasp didn't stop until Gimlet's body was badly mutilated. Jazz slowly moved back, trying to avoid the livid mech's attention, but the emotion itself stopped him from leaving outright. Hadn't those files said something about emotion being spark-based and if you could get Wasp in an emotional frame of mind you'd actually be dealing with the real mech and not some scarily murderous programming? Jazz stopped himself from flinching when Wasp's head shot up and the assassin focused on him, arm slowing as he stabbed Gimlet one last time.

"Hey, it's okay. I ain't gonna hurt ya," Jazz said softly, extending his arms out slightly to the sides so Wasp could see he wasn't holding any weapons. If worse came to worse, he had a long energy blade subspaced in easy reach. Wasp stared at him for a long nanobreem, neither of them moving, before Wasp asked, "What New-bot want?"

"I'm Sounds," Jazz corrected, "And… look, are you alright?"

Wasp frowned and asked, "What Noise-bot want?"

"I wanna make sure you're okay," Jazz said, risking a step closer. Wasp scrambled off of Gimlet's body with a hiss. Jazz paused, wondering if he should leave, but the fear he could feel in Wasp's EM kept him where he was.

"It's okay. Here." Wasp hissed again when Jazz swiftly removed something from subspace and tossed it underhand at him, only to pause and express surprise when it turned out to be a large, soft cleaning cloth.

"Go 'head an' clean up. Anything broken, bent, or dented?"

Wasp turned the confused look away from the cloth and onto Jazz. "Why Noise-bot care?"

Jazz shrugged his EM. "Ya remind me a someone."

"Who?" Wasp demanded to know in his sharp yet raspy voice, clutching the cloth close but not moving and EM all wary suspicion. Jazz didn't blame him. If he'd been in a similar situation and a 'Con started being nice to him, Jazz would be suspicious too. Moth had been very accurate yestercycle when he'd pointed out the Decepticons were in it for themselves.

"No one you'd know," Jazz replied breezily. "I see 'im at the club sometimes. An' ya didn't answer my query: are you alright?" Wasp scowled.

"Wasp not mech Noise-bot knows, so why Noise-bot care?" the assassin asked. Jazz cycled his vents, partly out of exasperation but mostly to buy time to come up with an answer Wasp would accept.

"Look," he finally offered, "Everyone needs someone on their side, even if only for awhile."

"Noise-bot want Wasp on Noise-bot's side?" Wasp asked, voice harsh but EM still wary.

"Actually, I was offerin' ta be on your side," Jazz glibly stated even as he kept a sharp optic on Wasp's EM. It was starting to calm and even out, which meant it was time to leave. He'd let Wasp think about his offer and force him to make the next move.

"Keep the cloth. I can get another easy," Jazz told Wasp with a grin, forcing the other's EM to spike with surprise long enough to for him to leave the brig. He'd need to go over Tel's info on the assassin again, because now he was convinced there was a way to tame the wild mech. He also needed to tell them about what was happening, but first he needed to sneak out of the base while he still technically had an alibi for Gimlet's death.

* * *

Figuring he had at least until Jazz returned to safely remain at the club, Prowl had stayed for primarily two reasons. The first was interest in whatever Teletraan's search brought up. The second reason and the one he was working on right now was how to plug the holes and leaks in the Autobot's information system from Blaster, spurred on by Teletraan's apparently easy access to his medical records.

"And then there's the double-loop connection."

"Double-loop," Prowl repeated. "What does that do?" Blaster's EM shifted nervously.

"It's something only we Communicators can do because it involves a full-on connection through one point. Basically, ya convince the system yer just a new piece a hardware. But ya have ta be physically present ta do that one."

"But you haven't been present, correct?" Prowl stated suspiciously.

"Well, uh… not recently," Blaster admitted. Prowl counted to one thousand before cycling his vents.

"Where and how?" Prowl finally asked.

"It was a border lookout near Iacon. It's all Autobot territory now. Jazz snuck me in. And by the way, you should have yer grunts double-check any strange bots, even if they are wearing the mark of Primus. It's easy enough to imitate a mark with paint nanytes. Jazz is doin' it right now with the 'Con symbol. All ya really gotta do is stop anyone from touching it and realizing it's not etched in."

"I'll make a note of that."

"Good. I…" Blaster stopped and turned toward Teletraan who's EM was spreading so his excitement was practically contagious.

"I found something!" Teletraan announced.

"Well, don't go keepin' us in the dark, Tel," Blaster urged with a wide grin.

"I followed Moth's suggestion about the serial numbers and got a direct match in the last place I ever expected," Teletraan stated before his EM darkened slightly. "I don't know how much good it will do us, however."

"But I thought you weren't able to find any matches on the serial numbers," Prowl pointed out with a frown even as he worried about Teletraan's last statement.

"Not for sparked mechs, no," Teletraan agreed, "But there are serial numbers for other things. AB-1025 is a drone serial number."

"You think the ghost is a drone?" Prowl asked seriously.

"No offense, Tel, but that bit of conversation I caught vorns back didn't seem like a drone," Blaster added, crossing his arms.

"I don't know about that. Our ghost has always come across as straight forward and no nonsense," Prowl pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's common record that Ultra Magnus got the name AB-1025 by surprising 'ir. Plus, what drone is gonna have the kinda programming to recognize good info and when ta send it?" Blaster countered. Prowl nodded in concession.

"Which leads us to our current problem," Teletraan stated.

"What information do you have on the drone?" Prowl asked.

"Very little. Blaster, do you remember what we were downloading that got us caught and kicked out by the Collective?"

"Yeah," Blaster said with a frown before his EM spiked in surprised realization, "AB-1025's one of the drones the Collective was having made at the beginnin' of the war?"

"What?" Prowl was startled. Blaster looked at him.

"You've heard of that, right?"

"Yes, I am aware of the Collective's order for drones. It's what caused the medical protoform shortage at the beginning of the war and why our casualties have been higher than they should have been," Prowl replied, EM dark.

"There were rumors in the lower echelons of the Collective that something was going on with said drones," Teletraan said.

"They was doin' somethin' to 'em," Blaster added.

"What?" Prowl asked, intrigued. Blaster looked at Teletraan who shrugged his expressive EM.

"We don't know," the ex-Collectable replied.

"There was always dozens a rumors goin' 'round. It was how we entertained ourselves," Blaster added.

"We hadn't even been certain the rumor about the drones was real until I downloaded the file with the serial numbers, but in doing so I triggered several alarms."

"By the time Tel had it in his databanks, we'd been locked out."

"And we were excommunicated soon after. Whatever they were doing, they didn't want anyone finding out," Teletraan finished.

"And now we have a ghost connected to it somehow," Prowl stated.

"Yes."

Prowl turned away, conflicted. He finally had one of the answers he'd been looking for but all it had done was bring forth new questions. Why give the Autobots that serial number? Were they expected to dig deeper into the Collective and its motives? Or were they never to find the connection at all? And what exactly did the Ghost of the Autobot Army have to do with the inner circle of the Collective?

* * *

A/N: Sorry about this one taking a bit longer, but I lost track of the order everything needed to go. I started writing certain scenes and realized they needed to come later. Part of the problem was Part 2 is just a line or two in my original outline as an acknowledgment that I needed it all to happen if certain things later are to make sense. I ended up having to outline Part 2 by its lonesome and now I have a better idea of the order everything needs to happen in so things should be smoother in the future. However, I owe an apology to BlackAerin: I inadvertantly lied to you in my response to your review. What I was thinking about and referring to doesn't happen until a bit later.

Hey, I'm over 50,000. That means this is officially novel-length. :) And much dislike aimed at ffn for taking away my old line dividers. Going through and putting the scene breaks back in is such a pain.

And as always, reviews are greatly appreciated.


	8. Part 2: Chapter 5

Warnings: Hard-core mech sex in the form of a threesome (one of the obvious ones). ...I don't know that I have to warn for death this chapter, which would be a first for this story, considering the only deaths are just third-parties mentioned during a conversation. Anyway, further warnings and disclaimers are in Part 1: Chapter 1.

* * *

_Chapter 5_

"We got trouble," was the first thing Jazz said to the others when he got back to the club.

"What kinda trouble, Jazz-man?" Blaster asked, processors perking up in concern.

"Dunno yet. I'm tryin' ta avoid the rap for a murder," Jazz admitted. Prowl gave Jazz a look, making it clear he wanted an explanation. Tel and Blaster just waited, knowing they'd get one.

"Gimlet got orders from Megatron to attack Polyhex as soon as the 'Cons here could do so. He's got Swindle getting' enough weapons ta arm five thousand mechs in two orns time."

"Then we need to warn the Autobots post-haste," Prowl said, stiffening since he couldn't possibly straighten up any further.

"Whoa, put yer engine on neutral. We can't comm. 'em yet."

"And why not?" Prowl asked, EM icy sharp.

"'Cause Gimlet's dead an' I don't know yet if our timeframe's gonna change."

"Ain't ya in charge now?" Blaster asked. Jazz cycled his vents.

"Technically, yeah. But I got named officially just this solar cycle an' I can be linked ta Gimlet's death. If I go majorly changin' things, an' they'll know 'cause I ain't the only one in the know about the attack, then they'll start lookin' closer at the club than we can afford. I'll need ta be subtle; things like delays in recruiting the numbers they need 'cause I'm busy keepin' everyone on task, that sorta thing."

"Does that mean you killed Gimlet?" Tel asked cautiously.

"Nah, Wasp did in the brig. But I'm the one that put Wasp in the brig an' they all know it. No one else has the bolts ta even try, he scares 'em that bad."

"Why did Wasp kill Gimlet?" Prowl inquired with a sharp frown.

"Bot that crazy don't need a reason, mech," Blaster told him.

"Nah, Blast, I think Wasp might have some method ta his madness. Gimlet was tryin' ta assault him. I surprised Gimlet when I came ta let Wasp out and Wasp took advantage of his distraction. By the way, Tel, based on his records, do ya think it'll be possible to tame Wasp?"

"You wanna tame the psycho murderer?" Blaster exclaimed.

"And what about warning the Autobots?" Prowl demanded to know.

"Look, I'll get the info we need ta get to the Autobots tomorrow. And yes, I wanna tame 'im. He'd be useful. Tel?"

"It's… possible," Tel admitted before warning, "But Jazz, it would be incredibly dangerous."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know. So please, tell me the best way ta do it wi'out gettin' myself killed."

Tel cycled his vents before saying, "Based on the fact he often finds a new troop whenever he'd forced to leave an old one, he's probably lonely."

"Ya certain about that, Tel," Blaster asked his partner.

"We as a species don't do well alone. We're too social. It's why enforced isolation in a brig is so very effective," Prowl pointed out.

"Yes. Thank you, Prowl. At any rate, Jazz, you should play up on that fact. Let Wasp know he's not alone. That you're there for him. Make yourself someone he can trust. But be aware that he won't trust easily. He's no doubt been badly hurt before."

"In other words, all he knows is violence so all he shows is violence," Jazz mused aloud.

"Most likely," Tel agreed.

"Thanks, Tel."

"Just be careful," Tel admonished.

"I must concur," Prowl added.

"You 'must concur'? Ya need ta relax the vocab a little," Jazz teased.

"You know what I meant," Prowl said stiffly.

"Yeah, I did. An' I'm always careful. Head on home, Prowl. Ya don't wanna be stuck here all solar cycle."

Prowl looked steadily at Jazz for a long moment, wing-like sensors twitching minutely. Then he turned and stalked out. Blaster watched him go before turning back to Jazz.

"Ya know, it was kinda sweet, him carin' about ya," he pointed out to his friend. Jazz just shot him a glare.

"Don't start that again, Blast."

"Just pointin' out the obvious, Jazz-man."

"Well, don't! I don't need ta deal with ya havin' a few screws loose in ya processor."

"Hey!" In addition to shouting, Blaster let his EM show his affront. Jazz paused, optics blinking on and off for a long nanobreem.

"Sorry, Blaster. I'm just… I dunno."

"Stressed?" Blaster suggested, letting his anger fade to worry. Tel sent him a suggestion, entirely emotional because that was all the bond could do but one he recognized from their long connection. Blaster sent back his approval. "Time ta relax. Tel and I can help ya with that," he suggested with a naughty grin.

Jazz hesitated and Blaster didn't even bother pretending he didn't know why. Having a threesome for the fun of it with a group of unattached mechs was different than having a threesome with a set of bonded mechs you didn't intend to bond with, but Blaster and Tel had gotten used to sharing themselves with random Collectors all the time when they'd still been a part of the Collective. They actually liked sharing what they had, not to mention it gave Tel a vicarious thrill when he could pretend to be the third mech and actually touch Blaster for a change. Besides, Jazz might be proud but even he knew when to accept help.

"Let us help you," Tel asked, stretching out his EM so it would brush against Jazz's sensors.

"Alright," Jazz agreed. Blaster smiled at Jazz as he took the black and white mech's hand and pulled him closer to Tel.

"Whatcha want me ta do, Tel?" Jazz asked, EM expressing his willingness as he made it clear he didn't mind being Tel's stand-in.

"Mmm… step into Blaster's personal space and kiss him softly," Tel instructed. Jazz obeyed, making the kiss short but sweet as his hands lingered on Blaster's shoulders.

"Again. Make it a little harder and deeper each time," Tel told Jazz. Jazz did so and Blaster let him for several kisses before he moved his own lips to Jazz's neck cables. He felt them stiffen and quiver under his lips as Jazz arched and moved to give Blaster better access. Blaster rewarded him by sticking his glossa past the outer cables right near where armor came up to cover and pushed it to the more sensitive systems inside and stimulated them so they arced with electricity briefly. Normally, arcing was painful, a warning something wasn't right, but with the extra stimulus and their own EMs playing with their sensors it would register as pleasurable instead. The hitch of Jazz's fans and his moan confirmed that and made Blaster smile.

Jazz, however, wasn't one to let a challenge like that pass by. Jazz's mentor had chosen to create his sparkling's build from scratch and one of the many things he'd included had been nimble fingers in the hope they would one day hold an instrument. He hadn't; Jazz's talents had lain elsewhere but the nimble fingers often came in handy. Right now they were digging into Blaster's seams, touching and stroking delicate equipment normally protected by Blaster's armor. Tel was whispering instructions of where to touch and how hard so the experience was akin to a long-time lover knowing exactly which of his buttons to push and it made Blaster grab Jazz and moan. Jazz grinned at him.

"Don't be so smug," Blaster warned. "It's my turn." He pushed Jazz back a little so he was closer to Tel and then Blaster went down on his knees. Once there, Blaster dug his fingers into Jazz's hip seams, stroking vibrating tension wires and other important components, while he pressed his lips to the front of Jazz's rapidly heating interfacing paneling.

"Getting right ta business, are we?" Jazz murmured even as he clutched at Blaster's shoulders, fans whirring on to help keep him from overheating.

"Ya know it. Now open," Blaster replied, lips still pressed to Jazz, the sensation of them moving making Jazz's EM shiver.

"Do it," Tel ordered, voice heavy with lust and EM wrapping around them with a sensual rippling sensation. Jazz moaned and complied, interfacing paneling sliding open to reveal the parts underneath. Jazz had a standard set-up: spike housing was at the front, near Blaster's lips, and the valve entrance was just below, far enough forward for the average spike to reach and penetrate but far enough back that the mech could somewhat protect it by pulling his legs together. Jazz's legs weren't together, but they weren't far enough apart for Blaster's liking. He disentangled his fingers from Jazz's hip seams and pushed his hands between Jazz's legs, forcing them to spread a little further, before resting his hands on Jazz's aft. Then he pulled the other mech forward so his lips were touching the spike housing before he gave it a lick with his glossa.

"Keep your spike in for as long as you can," Tel ordered quickly. Jazz grit his dentals but obeyed even as Blaster paid close attention to where the spike-tip was nestled. When it became clear he wasn't going to get the reaction he desired, Blaster switched tactics. He trailed his glossa down and then pushed it inside Jazz's valve. He was rewarded by a soft cry from Jazz and a flood of lubricant. Blaster grinned around his continued explorations of Jazz's valve.

The average mech's valve fascinated Blaster because he didn't have one and Tel's valve wasn't designed the same at all. Inside the entrance was a micro-weave web of wires and thousands of sensor nodes. The end result was surprisingly flexible, capable of loosening or tightening to various degrees all along the length. At the end was the port where the spike plugged in as well as, at the edge, the opening where the lubricant came from. The lubricant was a necessity if one didn't want to damage the extremely sensitive walls. Blaster's glossa couldn't reach the end of Jazz's valve, although he gave a spirited try. Jazz appreciated it based on his EM, pleasured cries, and the stream of excess lubricant starting to run down the inside of his legs as well as on Blaster's chin.

When Blaster saw the housing of Jazz's spike quiver in preparation for the spike to be released, he quickly moved back. Being up close when a spike pressurized was a good way to lose an optic. Sure enough, Jazz's spike came out with a hiss as it pressurized until it curved up and away from his body. Blaster was quick to play with his new toy, glossa tracing the patterns on Jazz's spike that varied from mech to mech.

"Frag it, Blast, quit teasing and spike me already," Jazz growled even as his engine revved and his fans kicked into high gear.

"Agreed," Tel added.

"Alright," Blaster agreed, moving away from Jazz, much to the mech's surprise. Blaster laid down so his right side was next to Teletraan, separated by a few nanoclicks, enough room for Jazz to insert a leg without scratching off paint nanytes. Blaster reached out with his right hand and trailed his fingers against one of Tel's panels, fingers too big to enter Tel's tightly fitted seams. Despite not having an engine, Tel managed to rev something at the touch. When Blaster raised his right leg so that the foot touched the ground, Tel opened his interface paneling, revealing a light sheen as lubricant slowly pooled into the shallow bowl of Tel's port. The sight was more than enough to make Blaster's engine rev and so he spread his legs and opened his own paneling, fully aware of Jazz intently watching him do so.

Many mechs recoiled when they saw Blaster's interfacing set-up. Instead of the standard, Blaster had four large spikes surrounded by clusters of smaller thinner ones, all of which were prehensile. The idea was that he could be plugged into four major components - such as his Collectable partner, an array booster, and up to two Collectors - all at the same time and still use the thinner ones to do such errands as changing his partner's fuel, coolant, and lubricant, grab and plug into various datapads to gather and exchange information, et cetera, with the Collectable of course giving the commands and directing who and what he plugged into. While Collective members considered it par for the course, Blaster had found that mechs outside of the Collective considered it unusual or even outright disturbing. In comparison, when Jazz had seen all of his spikes for the first time, he'd taken one look, declared it to be kinky, and did his best to play with all of them.

Giving Jazz a teasing grin even as he sent a pulse of lust across his bond to Tel, Blaster let two of the large spikes out of their housing. They pressurized with a hiss and Blaster let one curve up like a regular mech's, even stopping it from going as far as he could let it go considering it was much longer than the average mech's. The other he snaked under his upraised knee over to Tel. Jazz, just as Blaster knew he would, had taken the grin as a challenge and quickly settled himself so that he was kneeling over Blaster, a knee to either side of Blaster's chassis as his shoulders nearly rubbed against Tel's armored paneling. There he stopped, valve literally hovering just above Blaster's spike so that his warmed lubricant dripped on Blaster's spike and overheating body.

"Now who's being the tease?" Blaster asked even as Tel chuckled. Jazz's EM arched.

"I'm ain't the only one who can easily change that, now am I?" Jazz replied.

Blaster growled and let more of the spike's length out, gently probing upward until the spike-tip was nestled at Jazz's entrance. Tel's valve wasn't meant for interfacing for pleasure, more the pity, so Blaster set the tip of his spike to circling the outside playfully even as he thrust the other spike up inside of Jazz's wet, hot valve. Both reacted pleasurably, their EMs nearly overwhelming in their expressed pleasure.

'Facing with a mech with a standard set-up was fascinating, the way the valve tightened and loosened as he teased the length with his spike, the way Jazz's spike bounced slightly with his movements up and down on Blaster. It mesmerized Tel, too, who's EM started pulsing in time with their movements. Blaster teased them both for a bit, knowing exactly where to press to get Tel's EM to squirm as violently as Jazz was on his lap.

Impatient, Blaster finally plugged into Tel, but Jazz frustrated him by pulling up. Blaster retaliated by sending his spike surging up so the tip nudged against Jazz's port. Jazz smiled and took the obvious hint, settling down so the entrance of his valve pressed up against Blaster. Blaster made sure the head of his spike was against Jazz's port lest his next move bend or break the sensitive prong hidden in the tip, a painful proposition. Most mechs' spike-tips would open wide to release the prong, locking into place against the other's port. Blaster's didn't; it had been purposely been designed to fit into a Collectable's port. Tel's valve wrapped around the shape of his spike-tip, holding it firmly in place as he released the prong. With Jazz, he had to hold the other in place long enough for the prong to connect or he would miss or slide out. As the prongs slid out and connected, Blaster's spikes also released the pressurized transmech fluid that helped protect the prongs, dripping silvery-white out of his partners' valves along with their dark lubricant.

Tel's EM sang with his pleasure and wrapped around them further as Jazz's vents let out a pleasured hitching sound. The resulting flow of energy was nearly but not quite enough to make Blaster overload. He was fine with that, though, because this was his favorite part. The two-way connection meant Blaster could see both of his partners' metas as surely as they could see his. Tel was a familiar presence, the physical and mental connection a reconfirmation of the bond between their sparks.

Jazz, on the other hand, was a conflicted bundle of emotions. Oh, he was enjoying himself immensely; Jazz loved playing Tel's stand-in, it made him feel useful in a way that none of the three of them could really point out, and Blaster had made the experience very pleasurable. Underneath that, Jazz felt guilty because there was someone else he'd rather be with. Blaster probed that thought and emotion and an image of Prowl danced before him as well as Jazz's reasoning. Jazz wanted - no, _needed_ - someone to be there for him all the time, to pull him back from the edge he constantly walked whenever he started to stray over it. Tel and Blaster both did a reasonable job but a bonded would do it better and Jazz didn't want to bond with them. They didn't need him, not beyond work at any rate, and Jazz wanted someone who needed him as much as he needed them. But he did see someone who needed him in Prowl, in his stiff awkwardness and plead for help. He just didn't think Prowl wanted him back.

Blaster tried to help, sending everything he'd observed about Jazz and Prowl's reactions to each other and why he teased them. Jazz shrugged it off in irritation, not liking the line of thought, and focused instead on getting them off by poking at Blaster's feelings for Tel, which sent pleasurable surges through his system. Tel, who'd been watching and participating through his connection with Blaster but unable to interact directly with Jazz because he wasn't connected to him, sent Blaster an image of Moth. Blaster forwarded it to Jazz and was startled by the surge of protectiveness it engendered, his surprise echoed by Tel. Jazz didn't see the equal he wanted in a partner, but he did see someone desperately in need of him. It made him want to protect the little mech from the world, and if he had to make Moth his own to do it then so be it.

To Blaster's surprise, the feeling of protectiveness even extended to Wasp. They were similar in build and size and even had the same purple optics that only Neutrals and the occasional 'Con had. And by extending his feelings for Moth to Wasp, Jazz had seen something Blaster doubted anyone else had ever seen in Wasp before. He saw someone desperate, frightened, and lonely who stayed with mechs he hated because he had no where else to go. It was a revelation.

"No wonder ya wanna help him if that's what you're seein'," Blaster murmured.

"Look, I know he ain't nice, or even sane, but since I saw that, I've been wonderin' if anyone's ever given 'im the chance ta be anything else. I mean, has anyone ever shown him even a little love, trust, or compassion that wasn't tainted in some way?"

"You may be the first," Tel conceded, "and in that case, I wish you luck."

"Thanks, Tel," Jazz said with a soft smile.

"Any time. Now if you two wouldn't mind finishing what we've started?" Tel added, sending a heavy pulse into Blaster who couldn't help but forward it on to Jazz.

"Oh, yes!"

They focused on happy memories and their current lust and sent it to each other in electrical bursts that built up and set their frames on fire. Blaster, as the connector, felt like he was receiving the brunt of the pulses, despite his best attempts to spread them out. As such, he overloaded first and brought the other two over with him as the electrical discharge overwhelmed them. As they basked in the literal after glow, their EMs bright with heat, Blaster told Jazz, "You know, I'm pretty certain Prowl likes ya."

"Ya keep saying that, Blast, an' I believe ya, but do ya really think it's a good idea for a spy workin' his way up the Decepticon ranks ta get involved wi' the Prime's second-in-command?"

"Oh," Blaster whispered.

"Yeah, oh," Jazz agreed.

* * *

"Now here's a neat trick for ya," Jazz said, EM proud. After Blaster had cheerfully shown them some of the ways to stop a skilled hacker from taking over their comm. station, including the dread Electro-bomb which had the unfortunate tendency to destroy your comm. in addition to the enemy hacker's and thus should only be used as a last resort, Jazz had taken his students into the Underground to practice using their environment to their advantage.

"What is?" Moth asked, curious and mildly eager.

"I'm gonna teach ya how ta move through that gap." Jazz grinned as both his students subtly expressed their doubt.

"It's far too small," Prowl finally stated.

"Is it bigger than your largest part?" Jazz asked. Prowl ran a few quick calculations.

"Yes, but…"

"No buts, just flow," Jazz advised.

"Largest part," Moth mused before gasping, "You can't mean…?"

"I do mean. Definitely not somethin' ya wanna do in front of an audience ya don't trust."

Prowl frowned. What did his largest part have to do with trust? His parts were all connected and it wasn't like he was planning on exposing his spark chamber or other delicate internal workings. Unless…

"That's insane!" he sputtered.

"Ah, I see someone caught up with the conversation," Jazz said dryly. "Now watch and learn." With that, Jazz faced the gap and, for lack of a better word, flowed through it so he was standing on the other side. Jazz grinned at them even as the last of his pieces clicked back into place.

"I don't expect ya ta be that fast yet," he told his students. "Most bots ain't used ta keepin' track a _all_ their components. So who's first?"

Prowl glanced down at Moth, who was giving him a nervously hopeful look. Prowl cycled his vents and stepped forward, calculating the best way to proceed. Then he stretched out his hand and triggered his transformation sequence. It was strange. He was used to the end results being the most important part of transformation, but in this case he was transforming from his bipedal mode back to his bipedal mode with the most important parts being the moment of transformation and his current location. The trick seemed to lay in moving his parts forward while making sure he didn't overbalance himself or spread himself too thin. Nevertheless, it felt agonizingly slow and he was far too aware of his processors, spark chamber, and other important parts being exposed and then covered once again. Then he was standing beside Jazz, gap behind him.

"Good. Your turn, Moth." Moth stepped up but then paused.

"What if I get stuck or I forget a component and fall apart?" the minibot asked, starting to panic.

"Hey, hey. Don't worry about it. You have an alt, right?" Jazz said, trying to calm him down.

"Yes."

"Pretend you're transforming inta your alt only ta change your mind half-way, 'kay?" Jazz suggested. Moth nodded but his expression, EM and all, remained doubtful.

"What if I make a mistake? How did you not?"

"I don't make many mistake's these days, which isn't ta say I don't make 'em at all. Heh, the ones I do make are doozies. But this is easy. Now, come on," Jazz coaxed. "If Prowl can do it, you definitely can."

Moth looked at Prowl, who ignored it in favor of giving Jazz a stern stare for the subtly insult. Then Moth's EM turned determined and he started his transformation sequence. Prowl observed the slow-motion version of what Jazz and he had done, but frowned when he noticed something wrong.

"Send your memory banks in before your processor or you'll over-balance," he advised. There was a pause before the larger processor gave way to let the slightly smaller memory banks through the gap first. Then everything settled back into Moth's bipedal mode, the minibot's optics bright and EM frantic even as his chassis hummed with the sound of self-diagnostics.

"Ya didn't lose any parts. You're fine," Jazz told him. Moth nodded but didn't calm until the self-diagnostic finished with a soft click. Jazz gave the now relaxed Moth a worried look before shrugging his EM.

"Let's go. We've still gotta get back."

They continued on their way, having to pass through two more gaps as they did. Prowl was proud to note he was getting faster each time and was certain he could catch up to Jazz's impressive speed after a few more practice runs. Moth, however, remained slow during the process and panicky afterwards until he'd run a self-diagnostic, the trick obviously distressing him every time he had to perform it. Prowl had also noticed that he never seemed to do it the same way twice, as if he was uncertain as to the best way of doing it. By the time they were approaching the club, it was apparent to Prowl that Jazz was frustrated by Moth's lack of progress and worried about why. And so, while Moth was trudging behind, Prowl sidled up to Jazz and said, "I know you have things you need to do when we get back. I'll talk to him about today, if you like."

"Would you?" Jazz asked in pleasant surprise.

"Of course."

"Thanks, Prowl!" Jazz lit up so brightly Prowl had to reset several sensors and his equilibrium.

"You're welcome," he managed faintly. Thus, once they were back inside the club, Prowl found himself pulling the minibot aside.

"Yes?" Moth asked, looking up at him with a slight frown.

"You were having trouble with today's lesson, so I thought I might help you," Prowl stated.

"You've done that before, haven't you?"

"No, actually. This is merely the first time my logic has served me better than your ability to improvise has served you."

"Oh," Moth said, looking apologetic for his accusation.

"You said you had an alt mode, correct?"

"Yes."

"And when you transform into it, it's quick and easy, correct?"

"Yeah."

"The trick Jazz taught us is very much like learning to transform into an alt mode. You have to keep track of all of your components then as well, but most mechs have been doing it for so long they don't even think about how they do it any longer. The truth is, once you figure out the quickest and most efficient way to move your parts from one place to the other all you really need to worry about is how fast you're doing it. It's the same thing here, except you're not changing from one form to another. Just figure out the most logical pattern for what you need and the rest will follow."

"You make it sound so easy," Moth said, distressed.

"It is and when I'm through, you'll think so as well. Teletraan?"

:Yes? Oh, and use the comm., please. The microphones in the cameras are turned way down so Jazz's namesake doesn't deafen me, but it means I can't hear you very well unless you shout.:

:Sorry, I wasn't thinking, but could you open a door partway for Moth and I to practice with?:

:Of course.: The door to the back areas of the club slid partially open before stopping. Prowl led Moth over.

"Let's begin."

Teaching Moth what he was privately dubbing "the squeeze trick" was an awful lot like teaching younglings how to transform into their alt for the first time, with Moth being like the slow ones who worried about the placement of their parts. Something Prowl's logical mind had discovered long before his peers had, however, was that there was no right way to transform. As long as you successfully got from one form to the next, it didn't matter how you did it. Thus Prowl had run various simulations until he found what would be the quickest, most efficient way for him and then practiced it until transformation was a sub-routine he didn't even have to think about. He'd simply taken a similar approach to the trick.

Moth, Prowl had noticed, was attempting to do the same thing only by actually acting out all of the possibilities. While Prowl could understand that being part of the minibot's nature, it wasn't helping in this case and was possibly a part of Moth's problem. It didn't help that the trick was tricky. Transformation was usually done in an open area where you didn't have to worry about how close you were to something as you transformed. The trick had you moving and squeezing through a small space, so balance was a key part. Thus Prowl found himself watching and barking orders whenever it looked like Moth was about to fall. Moth took the orders surprisingly well and in a short time they'd managed to hash out the minibot's best way to move though the gap.

"Prowl?" Moth asked after his components settled back into place, giving Prowl the same nervous look he'd possessed each time he finished the trick, despite the fact Prowl had gone no where near close enough to touch him. Prowl hadn't called him on it because thus far the minibot had yet to be panicked enough to run a self-diagnostic.

"What is it, Moth?"

"Can I ask you something? I mean, not related to training?" the minibot asked. Prowl paused, not really wanting to get into personal stuff with Moth, but the minibot was giving him an almost earnestly desperate look now.

"Fine."

"Oh, thank you. It's about Jazz," Moth said, looking relieved. Prowl nodded; he'd expected that.

"You trust Jazz, right?"

"Of course?"

"Can I ask why?"

"What brought this up?" Prowl asked, not certain what Moth was getting at.

"I… I've been hearing things about him and the Decepticons and I want to know how you can trust him," Moth blurted. Now _that_ Prowl hadn't been expecting.

"You… want to know how I can trust Jazz?"

"Yes," Moth agreed, nodding before nervously explaining, "I thought that if I knew why you trust him, I might be able to trust him as well."

Prowl paused, thinking. Why did he trust Jazz? The mech was always either being too friendly or pushing him away. And Prowl didn't really know anything about the mech. But something illogical inside of him trusted the other mech. Unfortunately he suspected Moth wanted logic right now and that seemed to be the one thing he couldn't give.

"Can you at least tell me if the Decepticon rumors are true?" Moth asked plaintively, obviously wanting to trust Jazz but believing he couldn't.

"I don't know what the rumors are, so I can neither confirm nor deny them. He _is_ working with the Decepticons, but it's so he can spy on them."

"How do you know he's not a double-spy?"

"You mean a double-agent. And I don't, but I don't believe he is."

"Why not?"

"Because he hasn't told the Decepticons about me," Prowl finally answered, knowing even as he did that it wasn't a very good reason. Trusting someone because they hadn't done something bad yet? Especially when he could simply be trying to integrate himself more fully before betraying the Autobots? But Prowl didn't believe Jazz would do that, even if he couldn't explain how he knew.

"Oh. Thanks," Moth replied. Prowl could tell it hadn't been enough to soothe Moth's worries, but he didn't know what he could do to make it better so Prowl let it go. Hopefully, Jazz's actions would speak louder than any words.

"Where is Jazz, anyway? And Blaster?" Moth suddenly asked.

:Teletraan? Where's Jazz and Blaster?: Prowl asked through a comm. line he purposely included Moth in.

:Blaster's keeping me company,: Teletraan replied, tone making it clear it was just as well Prowl and Moth weren't in the office to witness it, :and Jazz left awhile back.:

"Oh," Moth replied before freezing. "Is that the time? Frag, I was supposed to be somewhere breems ago! I have to go, but thank you for the lesson!" Prowl watched Moth take off, somewhat startled by the speed the minibot had left with. Then, faced with the prospect of being alone while Teletraan and Blaster got it on, Prowl debated on leaving before deciding against it. They couldn't keep at it forever, he reasoned, and he'd need to be here when Jazz came back so they could contact the Autobots about the potential attack. Satisfied with his decision, he settled down at one of the tables, unsubspaced a datapad he'd received from Teletraan earlier, and started to read.

* * *

"Have ya heard?" Lesion asked excitedly when Jazz showed up at the base.

"Heard what, my mech?" Jazz asked in turn, expressing curiosity that was only halfway feigned. What had they been up to since he'd left yestercycle?

"Gimlet's dead and yer in charge! Except Bladelock's been takin' advantage a yer absence." Lesion whispered the last part, sensors stretched out and running on high in an obvious attempt to make sure no one was eavesdropping. If Jazz had been interested in making the 'Cons a better fighting force, he would've pointed out that it was clear to anyone nearby that Lesion was trying to hide something. As it was, Jazz let his EM express amusement and let any one watching make what they would of that.

"Of course Bladelock has. He was named third, after all. I'll just hafta make sure he didn't make any messes I can't fix." Lesion stuttered but then relaxed as Jazz talked.

"Good. I'm glad yer leader now, Sounds. Oh, uh, is it true Lord Megatron's given us orders ta attack?"

"Yeah, as soon as we're ready," Jazz admitted; he known all along he couldn't hide a fact Bladelock and Swindle knew. However, if he was leading the troop now, Jazz had the option of putting it off for awhile, something he planned on taking advantage of. Jazz left Lesion at his guard post and, hearing noise, ended up in the rec room.

"We need those weapons!" Bladelock was saying menacingly in front of a crowd, not a good thing to do if you wanted your mechs to follow you. If you didn't lose face, then the other would and then you'd have a mech who resented the public humiliation undermining you every step of the way. Jazz would've pulled aside the bot he was having troubles with so they could duke it out in private.

"And I'm telling you that will be hard to do if you don't help find or replace my personal array," Swindle stated. The arms dealer was more annoyed than angry, but considering his usual mode of expression involved insincere flattery and a sharkticon's smile, it was a noticeable difference. Their audience had been avidly supervising the verbal fight in an obvious hope it would come to blows but, as Jazz had entered the room, they'd started watching their new leader with a sharp sense of anticipation, not unlike a pit fighter with berserker programming smelling spilled energon.

"What happened to your array, Swindle?" Jazz asked. Bladelock jumped, EM guilty in a way that didn't bode well. Swindle, on the other hand, lit up.

"Ah! Sounds! I regret to inform you that I've been somewhat delayed on Gimlet's order because someone stole my personal array late yestercycle while I was recharging. I mean, can you believe it? They stole from _me_! If I'd known they wanted it, I would've sold it to them!"

"I hear ya, Swindle," Jazz said, trying to calm down the bot before he called out, "Whoever 'borrowed' Swindle's array has one cycle ta return it to his quarters. If it is not returned and it is found in your possession, I will come down on you like the Unmaker himself. We clear?"

"Yes sir!" the assembled 'Cons all chorused.

"Make sure ya pass that on to whoever's not here," Jazz said, already having noted several comm.'s going out to the mechs on duty. "In the meantime, you can borrow our array part-time, Swindle. And if it's not returned, add the cost of a new one to our current bill."

"I would, but that bill's been paid," Swindle replied, EM apologetic with an undercurrent of vicious displeasure. Jazz checked his audio receptors.

"Excuse me? Since when?"

"Before I went into recharge yestercycle, Bladelock made a new deal: half the weapons, half the pay, half the time."

"An' ya took it?" Jazz asked in surprise because he was pretty sure that deal would involve Swindle cheating himself. Time was money in Swindle's world.

"Yes. Bladelock was very… persuasive," Swindle stated, giving Bladelock a darkly triumphant look even as Bladelock shifted guiltily. "…persuasive" in Swindlese meant "he held me at gunpoint until I complied", which explained Swindle's vindictiveness toward the bot who was paying him. Jazz turned his sharp look and sharper EM on Bladelock.

"Explain."

"Gimlet was being overly cautious with his numbers. We can easily take this city with half the number and Lord Megatron wanted us to do so as soon as possible. If the weapons were what was holding us up, then we needed to hurry them a little. In one orn, we'll be ready to attack Polyhex!" Bladelock said. The other 'Cons cheered at that news, making Jazz realize he'd made the same mistake Bladelock had by fighting in front of the troops. The worst part was Bladelock had ruined all of his plans to give the Autobots time to gather a greater presence in the area and he obviously expected to be thanked for his initiative. Jazz hid his fear they might lose the city under his mounting fury, letting only the anger show. Bladelock's expression faltered and became worried.

"Uh, Sounds?"

"Don't you _ever_ presume for me again!" Jazz snapped.

"No, yes, of course," Bladelock said, stumbling over his apology even as the other 'Cons chuckled. They liked seeing someone they didn't care for getting in trouble with the boss. Jazz turned his glare on them.

"What're you all standin' around for? You heard what the mech said. He gave us a fraggin' _orn_ to prepare ta take this city down. We need a supply count ta see what we have, supply runs ta get what we don't, and several plans in place for layin' siege ta Neutral buildings in case they manage ta lock us out. Get goin'!"

"What are you going to do?" Bladelock asked as the rec room emptied of most mechs and the few that remained made a bit of a show of being busy. Jazz started walking, leaving Bladelock to try to keep up.

"I have an orn ta train the recruits, an' that's _after_ I go through Gimlet's files ta see what he didn't tell us. And where's Wasp?"

"I don't know. Don't particularly care, because if he's not here he's not killing our mechs, you know?" Bladelock stated with considerable blasé. Jazz stopped long enough to give the mech a hard stare.

"I'd rather know where a mech that dangerous is at all times," Jazz told him.

"Oh, yeah, I can see why you'd want to do that," Bladelock admitted before expression turned eager-to-please, "I have tracking abilities. I can find him for you."

"Good." It was silent for a long nanobreem. Jazz arched his EM and said sharply, "Well, what are ya waitin' for? Go."

"Yes, right."

Bladelock left him blissfully alone and Jazz finished covering the distance to Gimlet's now former office. He needed some time alone to figure out what to do now, before one of the 'Cons got it in their processors to remove him from his new position. On the plus side, Bladelock wasn't likely to be one of the ones he needed to be suspicious about, the way that mech thought with his spike and his eagerness to get to Jazz's valve. No, he needed to worry about Bladelock for entirely different reasons. Jazz's heightened sense of paranoia is what saved his life. When he was attacked as soon as he stepped into Gimlet's office, he grabbed his assailant and pinned him roughly against the exit of the room.

"If you were tryin' ta give me my cleanin' cloth back, there are better ways a doin' it," he informed Wasp.

"Was waiting for Blade-bot, not Noise-bot," Wasp hissed as he shrugged free. Jazz let him.

"So I was a good second option?" Jazz snapped before wincing. No wonder the Decepticon leadership had never gotten along with Wasp. If you had a group of idiots straining your temper, it was easy to take it out on the one who most likely to actively try and kill you. So he added, "Look, it's hard ta trust someone who's tryin' ta kill ya."

Wasp didn't reply, instead wandering the room aimlessly and observing everything in it like a particularly focused tourist. Jazz took a seat at the desk where he could see the majority of the room and thus Wasp's position in it while looking relaxed. Letting the little bot see fear or hesitation might undo what he was attempting.

"So, what were you doin' waitin' for Bladelock?" When Wasp didn't respond, Jazz tried a different question.

"Alright, where were you before the war started?" he asked. Wasp turned his head slightly from the shelf he was studying and replied, "None of Noise-bot's business."

"Okay, so what can you tell me?" Jazz asked. To his surprise, Wasp came over and perched on the edge of the desk.

"That what Noise-bot want from us? Information?"

"No. Maybe eventually, but I want it ta be what you wanna tell me. Right now I'm just tryin' ta start a friendly conversation, get ta know ya better."

"Then Noise-bot wants Wasp?" the small assassin asked, suddenly shifting his position so he could place a foot on either side of Jazz's legs on the chair, spreading his legs while leaning back, supporting himself on his arms. All Jazz had to do was stand and they'd be interface panel to interface panel. Jazz arched his EM at the blatantly seductive pose but otherwise remained still.

"The only thing I want from you right now is an agreement to cease hostilities."

"Who with?" Wasp asked, not moving from his still obviously open invitation.

"For now? Everyone. Unless it's an order or you're defendin' yourself, an' on the latter I'd prefer ya kept the assailant alive 'cause if it's an Autobot we can question 'ir and if it's a 'Con we can punish 'ir."

"What's in it for Wasp?"

"My trust," Jazz replied.

"Why would we want that?" Wasp asked, making Jazz feel some pity for the mech who was willing, or at least making a show of being so, to be 'faced by a mech he didn't trust.

"Trust is a two-way street in this case. I trust ya not ta slag me and you'll be able ta trust me not ta frag ya. Or 'face ya," Jazz said, optics flickering rather pointedly at Wasp's pelvic area as he added the last bit. Wasp huffed and pulled his legs together as he sat up.

"We'd both win," Jazz continued, EM gentling as he said, "Besides, how long has it been since ya had someone you could trust?"

There was a pause and an odd ripple of Wasp's EM before Wasp harshly stated, "Wasp not trust anybody but us! Not Noise-bot, not Blade-bot, and especially not Sell-bot with the smile."

"You can trust me," Jazz offered. Wasp hissed and slid off the desk.

"We'll see," the assassin said as he headed for the door.

"Be careful out there. Bladelock's lookin' for ya," Jazz warned. Wasp paused at the door.

"Wasp will take care of Blade-bot the way we see fit." Then he left Jazz alone with his thoughts. They weren't good ones, so Jazz stood, gathered up Gimlet's datapads and focused on subspacing them in a way that wouldn't make it impossible for him to reach his weapons, and then left. He couldn't stand to be at the base any longer.

* * *

The sound of a crash jerked Prowl away from his reading. Looking across the club, he saw Jazz at the bar raiding the high grade even as the cleaning drone responded to the noise. A quick check of his chronometer confirmed it had been less than a cycle since Moth had left, which meant Jazz was back rather early. Blaster came from the back, running, and pulled away the large cube of high grade Jazz had obtained.

"Hey, come on now, ya don't need all a that. Ya got better stuff upstairs," Blaster coaxed.

"That's for savorin'. I don't wanna savor. I wanna get so overcharged that my processors don't work right," Jazz replied with a grumble, trying to pull the cube back. Prowl wandered over as they tussled, making sure his datapad from Teletraan was safely put away.

"It didn't go well, I take it," Prowl stated as he finally stood over where the two had ended up on the floor.

"No, it didn't go well," Jazz hissed, giving up on getting his cube back from Blaster. "That fragger Bladelock undermined me while attemptin' ta gain my favor."

"So ya can't give us more time?" Blaster asked. Jazz let out a bitter laugh.

"No, I can't. In fact, we're utterly screwed for time. We have a slaggin' _orn_. How the frag are we supposed ta be ready ta defend this city in an orn? That's not any kinda time ta get a decent number of Autobot troops in this area!"

"It ain't like ya got any recruits," Blaster pointed out.

"That don't matter. Public opinion's in favor a the 'Cons in the lower levels. Most a the bots on the street would be more than willin' ta wield a weapon if it helped the 'Cons. All ya'd have ta do is shout for volunteers. Face it. Without the Autobots, Polyhex is doomed."

"You seem to be forgetting that you have a high ranking Autobot officer capable of ordering major troop movements right here," Prowl informed Jazz with a smug smile. Jazz turned toward him, optics blinking in an obvious reset.

"Well damn me to the Pit. Come on! If ya wanna see who you're talkin' to, we're gonna need Tel's screen-mod."

Prowl let Jazz drag him upstairs, deciding fairly quickly to let the mech have his way even if it was technically Prowl's way too. Prowl was shoved in front of Teletraan's screen, but he was distracted by Blaster taking on his immobile mode and plugging into his partner. Despite Teletraan having told him earlier that they'd done so solar cycle after solar cycle in front of an audience for the Collective, Prowl hadn't expected the business-like manner they performed the rather intimate act. And it was just business to them, as was obvious by their serious if preoccupied EMs. This was straightforward while pleasure took more time.

"Who're we contactin'?" Blaster asked.

"The Prime's troops. They're defending Iacon's closest border to the Decepticon's territory," Prowl replied as he sent Blaster and Teletraan a heavily encrypted comm. with one of the current comm. codes he had access to. The mech he'd left in charge of the comm. wouldn't readily take an unknown code unless it matched up with a certain dead code, and none of them were AB-1025.

"Gotcha. Connecting… wish I had an array booster. I'm gonna have ta bounce my signal to get that far and that means even my high levels a encryption have a possibility a bein' hacked," Blaster grumbled before exclaiming, "There! We're in. Ready, Prowl?"

Jazz moved aside as Prowl watched the screen in anticipation, only to straighten stiffly at the sight of the mech answering his comm.

"Sir!"

"I was hoping you'd contact us while I was on duty," Optimus Prime stated, obviously glad to hear from him.

"Why are you on duty? Surely Nosedive…"

"We lost Nosedive, Windrider, and Aero in a recent skirmish," Optimus stated with a calm yet deep sadness. "We've been taking turns at comm. duty since, although none of us are as good at it as Nosedive was."

"I see," Prowl replied, ignoring the way Blaster's EM started twitching. Bad enough those three had been the last flyers in their troop, but what Blaster had been teaching him meant their comm. system was ripe for the picking by any halfway decent hacker, much less Blaster's Decepticon counterpart.

"We will need to come up with a proper solution for the comm. system; it's too vulnerable without a proper comm. officer. However, the reason I was comming is because the Decepticons are planning on attacking Polyhex in an orn."

"We know, although I'm glad to hear you confirm it," Optimus Prime replied. Prowl had to reset his sensors to keep his glitch from taking over.

"You… know."

"We received a comm. late yestercycle about the attack. An orn doesn't give us much time to react, especially since not only is it a good distance, but it will mean entering Neutral territory armed for a fight," Optimus Prime stated and Prowl had to agree. Polyhex was technically a border territory, but most of that border was with Decepticon territory. The closest Autobot territorial edge was several joors from the city proper and it would take even the closest of the ground-bound Autobots several solar cycles to even reach that point, much less mass a fighting force large enough to properly take or defend a city. Still, there was something Prowl needed to know.

"Who contacted you, sir?"

"AB-1025." Prowl's EM arched sharply at the answer.

"I do have the troops mobilizing, however," Optimus Prime stated, trying to reassure his second before stating formally but with a certain amount of amusement, "Hopefully your comm. means I won't be receiving as many complaints from certain parties about potentially baring some of our defenses."

"Thank you, sir. Glad I'll at least be of _some_ service."

"You're always helpful, my friend," Optimus Prime insisted. "Was there anything else?"

"Aside to be careful when you arrive because a portion of the population is Decepticon-sympathizers, no sir. I should let you get on with things and we need to prep ourselves."

"I see. I'll pass that information on. Take care, old friend, and I will see you in less than an orn."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"So that was the Prime then, huh?" Blaster asked after the comm. ended, straightening out of his immobile mode.

"Yes."

"Nice mech," Blaster stated. Prowl relaxed slightly.

"Yes, he is."

"I'm more concerned by the fact we apparently got a ghost," Jazz suddenly spoke up.

"That concerns me as well," Teletraan admitted.

"Jazz, do you have any clue how many mechs would have known about the change in time as of late yestercycle?" Prowl asked.

"Heh, yestercycle most a 'em didn't know there was even a plan _to_ attack. I can only think a two that would know. No, wait, three."

"Who?" Blaster asked.

"The only mechs who woulda known are Bladelock 'cause it was his idea and Swindle 'cause Bladelock threatened 'im inta changin' the deal he'd made with Gimlet."

"I say our ghost's Swindle," Blaster suddenly said.

"What? Why?" Teletraan asked his partner.

"Think about it! He keeps the 'Cons from exterminatin' us and it keeps the 'Cons needin' his goods."

"That… does make sense," Prowl conceded.

"Nah, it's not Swindle," Jazz insisted.

"You think it's Bladelock?" Blaster asked incredulously.

"No."

"Who was third you mentioned, Jazz?" Prowl asked, only realizing he'd used the wrong name when Jazz gave him a look. "I mean, Sounds."

"Whoever stole Swindle's personal array after Swindle changed the order. Frag, it's probably why zie stole it!"

"Assumin' Swindle didn't lie 'bout losin' it," Blaster pointed out, still enamored with his theory.

"True," Jazz admitted, "but I don't think he was. I think Swindle was genuinely upset by the loss. Heh, probably the only loss he's ever been upset by. At any rate, it doesn't… feel right, him bein' our ghost."

"So you're basing your insistence on a third-party on a feeling?" Prowl asked with a frown.

"Hey, his feelin's are usually right on. It's why we're trustin' Moth," Blaster insisted. Something about that statement struck Prowl as a odd, but he wasn't certain what. Before he could inquire about it, Jazz changed the subject.

"At any rate, I need ta get back ta the 'Con base before they notice I'm gone and come lookin'. Now that I'm officially leader, there's a ton a stuff I need ta do, includin' seein' what if anythin' I can delay. I can probably get away for a cycle or two at a time for the next orn by claimin' ta be checkin' on recruits, but I won't be here regularly now."

"What will you tell them if they do notice you've been missing this cycle?" Teletraan asked.

"I'll tell 'im I've been lookin' for Wasp. Apparently he has a bad habit a disappearing off for cycles at a time. I'm gonna make it clear I wanna know where he is at all times. He's too dangerous to have wanderin' around."

"I suppose I should be off, as well," Prowl stated as Jazz left.

"Before ya go, Prowl, me and Tel need ta talk ta ya."

"What about?"

"Well, with the upcomin' battle and Jazz's sudden rise in the ranks, this club's not gonna be useful for much longer," Blaster stated.

"And it seems the Prime is badly in need of our skills," Teletraan added.

"Yeah, so we was hopin' you could help smooth our way into the Autobot ranks proper when they get here, ya know?"

"It would be my pleasure," Prowl admitted, feeling a small surge of hope. Both of the ex-Collective members would be excellent additions to the ranks and not only were they badly in need of a communication's officer of Blaster's caliber, but the working relationship he'd developed with Teletraan the last few solar cycles had caused Prowl to wish he had constant access to the mech's databanks, processing power, and thoughtful conversation.

After completing what were essentially performance interviews, Prowl promised he'd help ease their transition into the Autobot Army and then headed back to where he was staying so Blaster could get the club ready without him underfoot. As he was driving along with the heavy traffic that was normal for this time of the solar cycle, Prowl thought he saw Moth but he wasn't certain and the flow of bots wouldn't let him follow the mech so he could be sure. Believing he could ask the minibot tomorrow, Prowl concluded his trip and settled into the room he was renting with the datapad Teletraan had given him, unaware that a mech on the roof of the building across the way was watching him through the window.

"There you are, Wasp."

The small assassin startled and quickly turned from the roof's edge with a hiss. Bladelock watched unimpressed as the bot pressed himself low to the ground, looking much like a wild animal.

"You were a pain in the aft to find and if you hadn't slipped up at that intersection back there, I never would've found you. Frankly, I surprised whoever you were following didn't notice you then. Who were you following, anyway?" Bladelock asked as he moved closer to the edge. Wasp's hissing became more pronounced as Bladelock approached before he finally pounced. Bladelock had been expecting the attack, however, and put up a good fight. In the end, it was his superior strength and size that allowed Bladelock to pin Wasp, despite the damage the assassin caused.

"Don't struggle… that's right," Bladelock whispered into the smaller mech's audials. Wasp stopped thrashing about and glared up at the larger mech.

"Blade-bot will have to let us up sometime," Wasp pointed out, "and then Blade-bot will lose."

"Not if I kill you first," Bladelock replied, pressing himself closer to Wasp and causing their interfacing panels to rub together. Wasp's EM rippled slightly and his expression sharpened.

"Is Blade-bot lonely because Noise-bot don't like him?" Wasp suggested nastily.

"He's just playing hard-to-get. He'll be mine soon," Bladelock replied with utter certainty. Wasp didn't say anything, but his EM had unrolled from it's usual odd calmness into sharp disbelief.

"Don't give me that. Once I give him his gift, he'll forgive me and then I can show him exactly what I can be to him."

"We'll kill you before then."

"No, you won't, because we both know I can take you out if I know you're coming and I'll always know you're coming thanks to the gift I'm giving Sounds."

Wasp was suddenly flipped over, arms pinned behind his back by one of Bladelock's hands while the other traced the odd seam down Wasp's back. Then Bladelock lightly tapped a spot before prying. Wasp hissed and cursed and resisted, prompting Bladelock to hit him upside the helm and growl, "If you'd just be still I'd have the transmitter in place already. And it's not like it will stop you from killing mechs; just me and Sounds. We're going to be the only ones with receivers. Swindle promised me no one else would be able to pick it up, and while he charges more than an arm and a leg for an arm and a leg, he keeps his promises when it comes to merchandise."

Finally, Bladelock placed the transmitter through the seam onto Wasp's protoform base high enough on the mech's back that he couldn't remove it without help, and there was no one the mech would trust to remove it, considering it would require moving the armor to expose his back right by his spark chamber. Then Bladelock let go, moving swiftly back as Wasp launched forward and then turned and attacked. Bladelock countered him easily this time, forcing him back.

"Perfect test run. I'll always know when you're coming now and how close you are… that reminds me. Who were you following?"

Wasp didn't reply, seething, so Bladelock turned to see what had caught Wasp's attention earlier. The building was slightly lower and it took a moment for him to cross-reference the bots he could easily see, discarding them all until a form caught his optic two floors down. Immediately, Bladelock hunkered down with a hiss. That's when Wasp attacked him again. Once he had the little bot pinned again, Bladelock told him angrily, "I'm getting tired of you, so listen well. If I knew for certain Sounds wouldn't mind your loss, then you'd just be a head. As is, I'm still tempted to use you to… sate my loneliness, if you get what I mean." Then his frown turned into a smile, an idea striking.

"Looks like I'm going to be giving Sounds two presents," he cheerfully told Wasp, "your constant whereabouts and the head of Lieutenant Commander Prowl of the Autobot Army."

* * *

A/N: This took much longer than I'd planned because the muses complained. One scene I'd had planned is now a brief mention that it had happened at all and, well, I hadn't originally intended for there to be smut this chapter. That also took awhile because I don't dare write smut at work (I get most of my writing done on my work breaks) and, while I've written sex scenes before, this was my first attempt at robosex. I really hoped it worked, especially since I seem to have an odd combination of sticky and plug-and-play going on. The next one's probably going to take some time as well because I'm moving and not only does that take time, I'm not certain about the internet set-up in my new place yet. It'll be up eventually, though.

Many thanks for the favorites and much love to my reviewers.


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